Bluebell Eyes
by Happy Dork
Summary: Her eyes... so beautiful blue. He couldn't stop starring at her. He wanted to confess his love to her, but how? He remembered, the 5th day of September, that fateful night they met. Under very strange circumstances we can say. The more he knew her, the more he loved her. He would get drown by those bluebell eyes...
1. Those bluebell eyes

**Hello dear readers! How are you? I hope you are PHANastic! Oh, I made a phan pun, * evil wink* which means that our story will be about** _ **The Phantom of the Opera**_ **! Have fun reading it!**

 *** Let's remake the chapters that H.D. wrote! ***

Almost ten long years have passed since the accident in the infamous Opera Garnier; it was the August night where the opera Don Juan Triumphant was held. Someone could say that it was a very lustful opera, very surreal for the data of the age. Don Juan Triumphant was composed by the Opera Ghost. Somebody could mention that the Don Juan was very unusual opera than any other opera. The Phantom's opera was dissonant with darker tones and it suited in an opera of the future era, not so close at the 1870's nor 1880's decades. It showed the magnificent and the wit of its composer. Pity that the opera Don Juan Triumphant was first and the last opera that the Opera Ghost synthesized after his set on fire the whole Opera House, but frankly he didn't produce so much disaster.

The Phantom forced the opera company to stage his work and ordered Christine, a Swedish soprano and his protégé whom he used to be in love, to be cast in the leading role. She reluctantly agreed to do so only after her fiancé Raoul, devised a plan to catch the Phantom during the opening night performance. The score of Don Juan Triumphant was noticeably different from the style and staging of the rest of the piece and indeed the operas the company performed on stage. Don Juan Triumphant had key changes closer to the modern compositions. All of which serve to heighten the idea of the Phantom's genius; as a composer, he was portrayed as musically ahead of his time.

Don Juan, who played by the leading tenor Ubaldo Piangi, and his servant Passarino made plans for Don Juan's seduction of the maiden Aminta, Christine. Passarino, dressed as Don Juan and hiding his face, was the one who made her acquaintance. According to the plan, he was to leave the house before Aminta arrived for a dinner with Don Juan, who had assumed Passarino's identity. Passarino would announce his return later, prompting Don Juan to suggest that Aminta hid with him in a bedroom to avoid being found.

As soon as Piangi slipped into a hiding place to await the start of the scene, he was quietly strangled by the Phantom, who took his place and he sang _The Point of No Return_ with Christine before declaring his love in front of the whole audience. The Opera broke up in chaos when she exposed his horribly deformed face and Piangi's body was found.

It was raining cats and dogs that fateful night of the fifth day of September, 1880. It had past almost ten years from the event of the Opera Populairé and everyone seemed forgetting it. Somebody could tell that the rain could cause flooding. The drops flood in Seine River. The atmosphere was gloom and bleak, but also at the same time, very romantic. Perhaps it was because Paris is La Ville Lumière. The thunders made the stray cats hiss from fear, as everybody knows that cats dislike the water. The storm was the worst of all. It may kill a human! Little children were frightened on the grounds that it was raining like madwoman Maenad. Nobody could blame them. Even the older ones had great fright from the pouring rain. Somebody could hear screams of fright from some mansions.

The manhunt between the police and a young lady had just started. The constabulary was a team of five young men at their twenties or thirties. They wore those top dark blue hats of the police. Also, the young police officers were dressed in the accustomed dark navy blue color. They had truncheons and they yelled at her that they were gonna use them. The little lady took her tongue out off them. The police officers became even angrier with the situation and they ran behind her. The raining place was making everything wet and anybody was able to slip. As luck would have it, nobody slipped n the ground. Actually, the female character was about to slip but didn't mercifully. The young girl ran as fast as the delicate feet of hers allowed her, and she didn't look behind.

The young lady reached the Opera Populairé, and without second thought, she entered the Opera House. She walked for a few minutes to admire the destroyed and ruined Palais Garnier. It had dust everywhere and in the ceiling's drawings could reveal that they have been burned. She could feel pity about the Grand Pale. It was a breathtaking building, which burnt at the hands of the insane, maniac and madman Phantom of the Opera. She heard that the Paris Opera House had the most magnificent architecture of all the Opera Houses of the world. She heard people, who they used to visit or work in the Opera House, telling that this Opera House was much more than an Opera House. It was fascinating and it had a long story hiding in its walls or underneath the catacombs…

The Palais Garnier was a building of exceptional opulence. The style was monumental and considered Second-Empire Beaux-Arts style with axial symmetry in plan and eclectic exterior ornamentation with an abundance of Neo-Baroque decorative elements. Those included very elaborate multicolored marble friezes, columns, and lavish statuary, many of which portray deities of Greek mythology. The principal façade was on the south side of the overlooking the Place de l'Opéra and terminated the perspective along the Avenue de l'Opéra. Fourteen painters, mosaicists and seventy three sculptors participated in creation of its ornamentation.

The two glided figural groups, Charles Gumery's L'Harmonie and La Poésie, crown the apexes of the principal façade's left the right avant-corps. They were both made of gilt copper electrotype.

The sculptural group Apollo, Poetry and Music, located at the apex of the south gable of the stage flytower, was the work of Aimé Millet, and the two smaller bronze Pegasus figures at either end of the south gable were by Eugéne-Louis Lequesene.

Located on the right side of the building as a counterpart to the Pavillon de l'Empereur, this pavillon was designed to allow subscribers direct access from their carriages to the interior of the building. It was covered by a 13.5 meter diameter dome, two pairs of obelisks marking the entrance of the Rotunda to the north and the south.

The interior consisted of interweaving corridors, stairwells, alcoves and landings allowing the movement of large numbers of people and space for socializing during intermission. Rich with velvet, gold leaf, and cherubim and nymphs, the interior was characteristic of Baroque sumptuousness.

The building featured a large ceremonial staircase of the white marble with a balustrade of red and green marble, which divided into two divergent flights of stairs that lead to the Grand Foyer. Its design was inspired by Victor Louis's grand staircase of the Théâtre de Bordeaux. The pedestals of the staircase were decorated with female torchéres, created by Albert-Ernest Carrier-Belleuse. The ceiling above the staircase was painted by Isidore Pils to depict The Triumph of Apollo, The Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms, Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by Gods of Olympus, and The City of Paris Receiving the Plan of the New Opéra.

The hall 18 meters high, 154 meters long and 13 meters wide was designed to act as a drawing room for Paris society. Its ceiling was painted by Paul-Jacques-Aimé Baurdy and represents various moments in the history of music. The foyer opened into an outside loggia at each end of which are the Salon de la Lune and Salon du Soleil.

The auditorium had a traditional Italian horseshoe shape and could seat 1,979 people. The stage was the largest in Europe and could accommodate as many as 450 artists. The canvas house curtain was painted to represent a draped curtain, completed with tassels and braid.

The 7-ton bronze and crystal chandelier was designed by Garnier. Jules Corboz prepared the model, and it was cast and chased by Lacariére, Delatour and Cie. The total cost came to 30,000 gold francs. The use of a central chandelier aroused controversy, and it was criticized of obstructing views of the stage by patrons in the fourth level boxes and views of the ceiling painted by Eugéne Lenepveue.

As she walked inside even more, she fell in a trap on the floor, the same trap that the Phantom of the Opera fell as Red Death after he interrupted the Masquerade Ball in 1871. Oh _my dear God, what I did now?_ The young female thought, _it's so dark, that I can't even_ _try to see my nose! Great, wonderful, bravisima..._ _I will wait here until the police find me,_ the young woman made a huff, _c'mon, this is insane! Wait a minute..._ the young adventurous chit saw a Bunsen burner. The little lady took the Bunsen burner and used it to light up the place. _Much better!_ The young woman smiled widely to herself and started walking in those creepy passages, hoping she'd find an exit.

The young female child approached at the lake underneath the Opera Populairé. She jumped inside the lake and wished at the God, not to drown. Thankfully, the peaceful waters were up to her knees. She didn't mind if her clothes were wet, wherefore she was soaking from the heavy rain. The young girl's mind screamed at her to leave straightaway, because she would be in danger, but her heart's desire wanted adventure and a place to relax after that chase... so, she listen her heart. She walked inside the lake and in her hand she held the Bunsen burner. For a moment the young girl was between three passages of the lake. She didn't know where to go. She listen her mind and followed the middle watery pass.

She reached into the Phantom's lair and she waited patiently behind the heavy railings. The Opera Ghost didn't see her, due to he was composing at his organ. The female didn't know that he was the Phantom of the Opera, because she was tenderfoot at Paris, and she believed the story of the Opera Ghost was a myth. The young woman wasn't a supporter of operas, but his music filled her soul with a strange sweet sound. Actually, someone could say that she preferred performances without singing parts. She was enchanted from his music, which was different from any other music in the world. When the Phantom of the Opera ended playing at his organ, the female adventurous chit clapped her hands with delight. The Opera Ghost turned his head and saw a young woman clapping her palms with enthusiasm. He growled at her and he order her to leave.

" _Go now! Go now, and leave me!_ " the Opera Ghost shook his hand violently and he sang.

"Please, monsieur, I'm begging you! Don't let me go, don't order me to leave. I'm a supplicant. I have nowhere to go..." the young woman spoke with an intoxicating voice for the Phantom's ears.

"Don't make me say it twice. Go away, you little viper!" the Phantom of the Opera howled.

"Monsieur," the girl's eyes started watering, "I do not allow you to call me like this! Please, this is a case life and death for me. If the Parisian Police found me, I would go to prison!"

"So, this isn't my problem." His voice became calmer than before.

"Oh monsieur, give me a shelter for a few moments. I'm not a thief. I cross my heart that I won't steal anything from your personal property. Let me in. Please..." the girl's begging voice made the Phantom's heart shatter.

"Alright..." the Opera Ghost pulled the lever down and the heavy railings were going up, "Now, get inside before I change my mind!" the girl obeyed and the Opera Ghost left with his gondola.

The Phantom of the Opera left hid bolthole and departed for the upper premises of his Paris Opera House. He looked if the police were reaching for her. The masked man wore his black cloak with the hood covering his features, as he went out the Opera Garner. When he saw the police, he asked them what they were looking for. Everybody believed that the infamous Phantom of the Opera, who lived and haunted at the Opera House's catacombs, was a dead corpse; that's why the police did react normally to him. The answer, which was given from the officers to him, made him believe that the young lady was talking honestly. He thanked them and left. When he saw that nobody was in sight, he entered the Opera House and closed the wooden door.

The young woman sat in his armchair beside the organ and waited patiently and calmly for him. Her eyes were peering into the place. She was curious about it. The place was wonderful. It had a huge organ and other very amazing things that made the place indescribable. The lair had its own beauty; dark, gloom, threat. It made her blood ran cold from her awe. She felt both fear – for the coldness and the darkness of the room – and admiration – for the perfect harmony of all the stuff there – for the place she was. The young female felt bewitched from the dark atmosphere. She closed her eyes for a moment to recall the moments when she heard him playing at his organ and singing with his enchanting, velvety and smooth voice.

 _She is beautiful_ , when the Opera Ghost came into his lair, he thought, and his blue eyes locked with her bluebell eyes. The girl was close to her sixteen. The young woman was absolutely gorgeous, even more beautiful from Christine! The young woman was like an angel from Heaven, who landed to earth. The female character was just like Snow White. She had bluebell eyes with long and thick eyelashes. Her eyebrows were black and shapely. Her hair was little bit longer from her shoulder's length ebony, with wet curls. Her skin and face were pale, smooth and white with rosy cheeks and red thin lips. She was the most beautiful female creature he ever saw in his life. The Phantom's guest wore a long light blue nightgown with short sleeves. Awfully, her nightgown was so extremely wet and it stack in her body. She was wet to the bone!

 _Why he is wearing mask?_ The little lady thought and looked at him with curiosity. The Phantom of the Opera was a tall man, well-built. He had jet black slicked-back perfect hair, which was his wig – but the lovely chit believed that it was his natural hair. His eyes were blue as the depth of the sea. The Opera Ghost wore his well-known half, white and porcelain mask, which suited perfectly at his face. The little lady gave thought to how handsome he was. It wasn't actually a lie, but, maybe, when she would see his abhorrent face, she would scream from fear. The Opera Ghost took off his high black top hat. The Phantom of the Opera didn't stop looking inside her bluebell eyes, neither she. It looked like a glance competition, where the competitors or contestants must look each other's' eyes without even changing the gaze.

"Bon après-midi monsieur!" the little lady smiled widely at the masked man.

"Il semble que vous connaissez le français, mademoiselle." a huge grin warped up his face.

"Of course!" the young woman opened her eyes wide, "I'm here on Paris for ages!" the girl chuckled and it filled with a strange happiness and satisfaction the Opera Ghost.

"Let the masks fall!" the Phantom of the Opera wanted to laugh at his cold humour, "Mademoiselle~"

"My name is Helen Sermetzidou and I'm Pontian from Smyrna! And please, sir, call me Helen, not mademoiselle." the little girl spoke at once.

"Alright madem~ Helen, I will go straight the plot; why the police officers were looking for you?" the Opera Ghost raised his eyebrow.

"Oh monsieur, please don't hand me in police! Please, I'm begging you! This is life and death for me! I don't wanna go there! I can't, I don't want to go. This is going to be a disaster beyond my imagination! I will die in the first second if I see a police officer looking for me. Sir, I'm not a thief, I'm just a very stupid girl in need. Indeed, I swear to you that I never steal something in my life. God is my witness! I'll do whatever your heart desire, but only don't denounce me! Please, it was an accident; I swear it was an accident..." Helen murmured at the end.

"What? What was an accident?" the Phantom of the Opera was about to growl at her, but he calmed his nerves.

"I... monsieur François... kiss... candlestick... blood..." Helen looked frightened.

"What do you mean? What do those words mean?" the Phantom of the Opera asked ready to explode.

"I, I used to work at the mansion of de Conér's family. It was a good family. Lovely, someone can describe it, but in the same time cold as an iceberg. Actually, they are very strange and cold. They saw me like I belong to the inferior human kind or something like that. Madame Conér is a very strict woman and she is like a rotten potato!" Helen chuckled with her own joke, "With three older sisters – Mademoiselles Antoinette, Vivianne and Ramonà – and two sons – Messieurs André and François – and the youngest of all, I mean monsieur François, was seventeen years old. When I was in need Monsieur Conér helped me, and I respect it. They were very kind and compassionate with me sometimes, not always, rare I can say perfectly.

Monsieur François was a flirtatious man and he pursued on me and I didn't like it at all. I really felt very awkward being around him. Monsieur François always asked me to bring his stuff, for example his newspaper. He preferred me to serve his breakfast or his lunch. Monsieur François wanted all the time to be with me. He said once that it would be very nice if I paid a little visit at his bedroom and you can't imagine how red my face from embarrassment became. Monsieur François murmured in my ears, when I was washing the dishes, some very dirty and vulgar comments about me. He even dare to say that it would be more pleasant if I worked only with my underwear or totally naked! It was a disaster! You can't imagine how red my face all the time was. To be honest with you monsieur, I used to think that I got fever thanks to my red as fire cheeks from embarrassment. He didn't let me sometimes to stay alone. You know privacy! I used to lock my bedroom to be safe. And one darned night, this night, I forget to lock the door." Helen sing-song the last sentence playfully,

"Tonight, I was sound asleep – if there's an earthquake, I won't understand it, most of the time I sleep light, but tonight I was dog tired – and I didn't understand that Monsieur François entered my room like those cats in the night and closed the wooden sculptured door. Luckily for me, the door squeaked when he closed it and I woke up suddenly. It was so dark that I was very frightened. He came closer to me and I was about to scream so I opened my mouth, and he touched my lips with his index. I couldn't see anything but I felt that he was smirking.

And then he kissed me. Monsieur François kissed me with a disgusting passionate kiss that I want to vomit only with the thought of this. It wasn't the best experience, trust me! He, then, pinched me in the wall and he started ravishing me. I tried to escape and I kicked him somewhere that I shouldn't..." the little lady's cheeks had a rose blush covering them, "He screamed in pain and he started chasing me in my whole room. It was hilarious, I ran in my room and he chased me, while he was cursing me and calling me with words that I shouldn't even speak. He pitched me on my bed and he was on the top of me. Monsieur François Conér leaned down to my face and he captured my lips and he devoured the kiss like a raging lion that was eating his meal. Monsieur, you can't believe how awfully I felt that moment. Monsieur François started taking off my nightgown but thanks God, I handed a candlestick and I hit his head. I have no idea how I find it, but I thank the God a lot. I stood up then and when he started coming again I hit him like forever. His family came into the room and they saw me handing a bloody candlestick and his dead body at my woollen carpet. They call the police in no time and I left and I started running, while the police officers were chasing me. That's all!" Helen's bluebells smiled and shined at the darkness of his lair.

"Well, madem~ Helen," the Opera Ghost was about to call her mademoiselle again, "this means that you killed somebody who was about to rape you."

"Oh c'mon monsieur!" Helen puffed, "Not rape, anything but not this word. It's too... I think you can understand it. And also, I protect my body! Police wouldn't believe me. A young talkative poor Greek woman against a Frenchman who was the richest of all... I'm sure that if they'll find me, this would be the death of me."

"Helen," the Phantom of the Opera spoke once again with his smooth voice, "what are you going to do now?"

"Well, I suppose, I'll take the boat to New York and start a new life and voila!" her eyes shined like stars in the sky.

"Really Helen, do you know who I am?" the Phantom of the Opera made her that question.

"Well of course I know who you are!" the Opera Ghost felt very awkward about seeing her relax around him, "You are a man who is wearing a very stunning white as snow mask and he plays music!" the Phantom chuckled at her, "What?" Helen had a puzzled look at her beautiful face.

"Helen Sermetzidou, I'm the infamous Phantom of the Opera!" the Opera Ghost triumphed when he revealed his identity.

"Oh my Jesus Christ, you are the Opera Ghost? The same guy who burnt the whole Opera House while they were performing his Don Juan Triumphant?" Helen's bluebells opened wide and she came closer to him. The little lady grabbed his gloved palm and she gave him a hearty handshake, "Monsieur Opera Ghost, I've heard stories about you and I'm really glad that I met you!"

 _What the Hell she is talking about?,_ the Opera Ghost thought, _Why she is glad meeting me? This is so strange. Why isn't she running like the others, like her... like my Christine? Is she deaf?_ _No, I should say that she is rather chatterbox Greekwoman. What is she trying to earn? People are afraid of me. Nobody wants to be so close with me. Didn't she realize that she is talking with the Devil's Child, did she? Why she is smiling at me? Why her eyes look at me with warmness and tenderness? I think… I never felt those feelings, tenderness and warmness, but from the way Madam Giry, my dear old friend Antoinette, looked at her daughter was exactly the same way. Why the heck isn't she screaming and trying to get away from me? She must be a madwoman Maenad…_

"To be honest, I hate operas, but your music is so so θείο δώρο από τους Ουρανούς!" Helen spoke in Greek.

"My apologies Helen, but what the phrase; θείο δώρο από τους Ουρανούς, means? I have great knowledge, but I never studied or learnt neither the Greek language nor the Ancient Greek language." the Opera Ghost asked her to make the translation of that Greek words.

"Oh," Helen chuckled, "But habits! Anyway, θείο δώρο από τους Ουρανούς means; God-sent from Heaven!"

"Thank you." the Opera Ghost spoke coldly.

"Your welcome!" her eyes locked at his and they stared at each other, which seemed like an eternity, "So, I think I must go now…"

"No, don't…" _what the Hell are you telling to her, you, Opera Ghost?_ "I mean," his voice became serious once again, "it is raining heavily and you might catch cold. You can stay here for the night." His heart raced in the thought that she was leaving and he didn't even know why.

"Thank you a lot Monsieur Phantom, but I, unfortunately, have nothing to wear. Only this nightgown which is so wet, that it starts to tighten up in all the wrong places." Helen giggled once more with a lovely laughter that made the Opera Ghost's heart race from happiness.

"You can borrow one of my shirts and my pants." the deformed man offered.

"Really?" the bluebells of Helen opened wide fro excitement, "Je vous remercie, je vous remercie, merci beaucoup!" in her lips a smile crossed.

"Votre les bienvenus, Helen. Also, you speak French perfectly." his voice was as smooth as always.

The Phantom of the Opera showed her the bathroom and he told her that he was waiting outside, he handed her the clothes and a pair of boots, and the little lady entered the bathroom. _Damnation_ was everything that Helen could have thought. And why she thought of it? Well, the very lair of the Phantom had no doors but heavy red velvet curtains. When her blue bell-like eyes met the place, she gasped from amazement. The bathroom had its own beauty. It wasn't a huge bathroom, but Helen never minded it. The candlesticks had yellow half melted candles, which were lightened. The walls and the floor were from stone and it looked pleased at her sight. The long carpet was woolen, cherry-like and velvet. Also, it had a good sophistication toilet, very progressive for its century. It had a porcailen sink and a half broken mirror – which wasn't showing the whole body – was hanging down. She looked with curiosity the mirror and looked her idol with sadness. And a long porcelain bath was waiting for her to be used.

Helen turned on the sink of the bath and cold water started running in the bathtub. When the female character touched with her bare hand the running water her eyes widen from shock. _I suppose that I would suffer this coldness of the water for one night_ , her giggle made her relaxed. When the whole bathtub was full with water and it had bubbles from the bath soap, Helen pulled off her nightgown and her pantalets. The young woman breathed out, smiled crooked and she got in bathtub. Her blood ran cold in her flesh, but she started getting used to it. She couldn't understand how the Phantom of the Opera stood its cold. For a moment she thought that she would catch cold or even die in the bathtub, and they'd find her dead body after some ages! Helen applied soap to her whole body and while she was soaping her ebony her with the shampoo, she closed her eyes from delight. Helen was a woman who enjoys the bath.

In the time she got out the bathroom, she wore the long velvety and dark-brown bathrobe, which belonged to the Phantom of the Opera. At the time Helen wore it, she felt warmness. Helen dried her hair and she started untangling her not-so-long curly hair, which were that moment like a bush, with a hairbrush she found there. The Opera Ghost took care of a lot for his wigs and how perfectly should be. She did her hair in a lower ponytail and an ebony curl fell on her forehead, but she placed it behind her ear. The young lady wore again her panties after she dried them. She clouded over when she realized that she had neither corset nor chemise. Actually, she hated so much those corsets, but that moment she hoped she had one. The talkative Greekwoman buttoned up the white long shirt. Helen wore his long brown pants and the dark brown and leather belt. In her feet, she wore his brown leather boots. It looked on her like it was stolen.

At the time she revealed herself, the Phantom of the Opera shook. "What's wrong monsieur Opera Ghost, did you see a ghost?" a big smirk applied her face, "Oh, you get it? It's a ghost! I made a ghost pun!" Helen let a hearty laughter and the Opera Ghost rolled his eyes.

"I think that you, Helen, have low sense of humor." the Opera Ghost was as cold with her as the first moment they met.

"Για πες μας κύριε παγοκολόνα ένα αστείο…" Helen murmured in Greek and luckily he didn't hear her, because if he heard her, he would need his Punjab Lasso.

"I shall show you my bedroom. It's very beautiful place and relaxing." He showed her the way.

"Really, you don't have to do this." Helen took her serious expression, "I mean, _you_ are the one who should sleep in his bed and I can sleep on your gondola or one armchair."

"I demand my guest to sleep on my bed." a smirk applied Phantom's lips, "Besides, my bed is a queen-sized bed." when he told those words, Helen's head turned red from embarrassment and the man with the half deformed face let a chuckle escape from his mouth, "Don't worry, I'll sleep in the armchair."

The moment Helen looked at the bedchamber her bluebell eyes shined even more from enthusiasm, due to she never saw a bedroom like this. Just like the rest of his home, the bedroom was inside a cave-like room. The atmosphere was the same dark and mysterious like the rest of house. It was romantic and the young female character was amazed by that. It had a lot of yellow candles on golden sculptured candlesticks. In one French word; étonnant. In the middle it was a swan-like bed with red velvet bed sheets. There was black laced screen at the top of the bed. She was addressed him good night with a smile-like way and he nodded before he left the room. She was all alone in the room. Helen smiled cunningly at herself and threw herself on the bed. A lovely giggle escape from her mouth and she smiled. After few hours her eyelids fell heavily and she fell asleep.

The Phantom of the Opera came once to check on her and when he saw her sleeping peacefully, a cold smile approached his face. The deformed man stared at the _Sleeping Beauty_. Did he just call her internally Sleeping Beauty? The genius man had no idea why he thought it. His blue eyes started traveling at her body. He didn't stop starring at her, how beautiful she was that moment. Even when Christine fainted at the sight of his bust of herself with the wedding dress with the veil, and he placed her at his bed, the Phantom didn't stay there starring at her. How awfully his mind started having impure thoughts about her body, her curves.

 _Hell, I need music!_ The Phantom of the Opera left the room like a storm. The musician sat his armchair beside the organ and he left a sigh of relief broke flee from his mouth. The Opera Ghost stretched his fingers and some cracks were heard rhythmically. The intelligent man started playing at his organ. His fingers ran at the organ, it was like he was caressing woman's flesh. The Opera Ghost closed his eyes and he played like a true mage. The Phantom of the Opera eased off his nerves, actually his impure thoughts about her curves, and he started relaxing. He played Il Trovatore from Giuseppe Verdi. The Phantom of the Opera loved music. It made him relax. He could not resist it; it filled his empty and dark soul with welfare and happiness. When Christine left him and returned at the Opera House after three months of the disaster, he found comfort at his music. The Opera Ghost didn't eat for a half a year and he was hiding from the world. But when the second after the destruction of Palais Garnier and as the people seemed forgetting about him, he came back as a normal human who was wearing mask and he rarely came out of his Opera House. After, he pressed accidentally the wrong key and his mind had those thoughts again.

"What the Hell?" the Opera Ghost groaned, "Oh you Helen, what have done to my mind?" he sighed, "I need something else, nor music. My music can't help me," he said the last sentence internally and ironically, "this is worse than anything. I need something to read, but what?" the Opera Ghost researched for something and he handled a dusty book, _Poetry_ by Lord George Gordon Byron.

And then, his fingers opened the book, in a random at he read quietly, in case he woke her up.

" _She walks in beauty, like in the night  
of cloudless climes and starry skies  
and all that's best of dark and bright  
meet in her aspect and her eyes;  
thus mellow'd that tender light  
which Heaven to gaudy day denies._

 _One shade the more, one rain the less,  
had half impair'd the nameless grace  
which waves in every raven tress  
or softly lightens o'er her face  
where thoughts serenely sweet express  
how pure, how dear their dwelling – place._

 _And on that cheeks and o'er that brow  
so soft, so calm, yet eloquent  
the smiles that win, the tints that glow  
but tell of days in goodness spent,-  
a mind at peace with all bellow  
_ _a heart whose love is innocent."_ the deformed man read the poem _She Walks In Beauty_.

The Phantom of the Opera didn't stop reading, but he stayed awake for all the rest of the night only to read it. The Opera Ghost forgot how much he loved reading, but his love for music was even more powerful. The forty years old man remembered the time he read _The Masque of the Red Death_ and he decided to interrupt the Masquerade Ball dressed just like Red Death. The Opera Ghost left a chuckle escape from his lips in the thought of what he made poor Christine suffer. He even started thinking and asking himself why he loved Christine. Wrong, the Phantom asked himself why he was so _obsessed_ with Christine. The man with the half deformed face realized that the feelings he had for the Swedishwoman soprano wasn't love, strong amorous affection, as he thought. And the Opera Ghost felt sorry for making Christine kiss him. Deep inside him, he knew that she didn't enjoy the kiss nor want to do it. But, for the sake of her lover, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny she kissed him passionately, to save him. Raoul, not him. He pitied himself and he continued reading.

Helen saw a very delighted and blissful dream, which she totally didn't want to wake up and she wanted to sleep like this forever. She was back to Smyrna with her Father. Helen was twelve years old again. They didn't stop laughing nor dancing nor singing. They jumped up and down. They had very fun together. They were again the same sweet family. How much did Helen miss his scent, his voice, his laughter, his hugs? Sir Sermetzidis and his little daughter were having a picnic. He had his Pontiac lyre and he played amazingly. They didn't stop speaking Greek or Pontiac, that pitiful, Helen hadn't speak them a lot since she came to France, to Paris. Her Father gave her the usual warm smile that was the same all the time. His greenish eyes gleamed. The warmness of his appearance filled with joy her poor unfortunate soul. She was smiling in her sleep all the time. When the Phantom of the Opera came to check her, she was still smiling and his heart melt from satisfaction. It was a delight, a miraculous dream.

Her Father died before some years, at the year of 1871. Illness, the doctors said. He was so ill that he couldn't live any longer. If he survived, that would be a miracle. Helen was all alone when he died. They were only them, her Father and her. Helen's Mother died giving birth to her precious child. They belonged to a poor lowness. Her Father was the chef of the mansion and her Mother was a maiden. The mansion belonged to a very rich Turkish family. They saw Helen as their child. The elder daughter of the master Kuzey Estelik, Jasmine-Esmanur, taught her how to read, to write, to play music at the piano. Helen knew five languages; Greek, Pontian, Turkish, English and French, as they were all her motherhood language. After her Father's death, Helen became the most miserable human being in the world. She lost her cheerfulness. Helen couldn't stop crying and the only dresses she had were on black colours. In the age of eleven, at 1875, the Turkish family disposed her and sent her to Paris, saying that she'd find peace.

The Phantom of the Opera was standing and he started starring at the mannequin of Christine and sighed. "Why have you done this to me? Why? I want an answer! Why did you send her? Didn't I suffer enough being so close to a woman, did I? She is happy meeting me. She made a full and hearty handshake with me and she didn't even dare stop smiling. She had a stupid fool, but the same time adorable smile. Why, why?" And then he turned his gaze at the sky and he spoke to God. "What I have done to deserve this? Why didn't You kill me when You had the chance? Why I'm feeling again… no, it is a game of my mind. I only met her once and she'll leave tomorrow." The Opera Ghost turned again his gaze and looked at mannequin of his past first love, the Countess de Chagny. "Why she has to leave? I don't want her to leave… Oh," he took his evil smirk, "I wouldn't let her go…"

The next morning Helen woke up full with energy! She stretched at the bed and she started lounging in the queen-sized bed. After that, Helen murmured something in Greek and she pressed her head against the red velvet sheets. When Helen realized that she was at some stranger's house, she almost passed out – but she remembered the whole mess of the early night – and jumped from the bed.

"Bonjour monsieur le fantôme de l'Opéra!" Helen smiled widely at him.

"Bonjour Helen. Avez-vous bien dormi?" the Phantom of the Opera gave her a fake smile.

"Perfectly!" her smile made him feel beautifully, "And you? What about you, did you sleep well last night, monsieur le fantôme de l'Opéra?"

"Wonderfully." the Opera Ghost couldn't stop but smiling with his heart when their eyes locked.

The Phantom of the Opera pointed out to Helen to sit at the armchair and he would bring her, her breakfast. Helen obeyed with a small smile and she sat at the brown leather armchair, waiting patiently her complimentary breakfast. When the Opera Ghost gave it to her, he asked her forgiveness for not having a table so she would eat properly. Helen shook her head and she told him that it wasn't something important and she could eat perfectly at the armchair. She ate a slice of a white loaf, some olives and on the top of her slice she spread with the knife the orange marmalade. The Opera Ghost was watching her how she ate, but behind his back something was hidden…

"Oh my dear, I am full!" Helen let a chuckle escape, "I believe honestly, that I should leave you continue your work, I don't wan~" before Helen continued her phrase, the Opera Ghost came close to her, smiling cunningly, and showed that behind his back he had a long rope. Before Helen could say something, the Opera Ghost tied her at the armchair. The Phantom of the Opera tied her so well for the purpose of not letting her escape. That was his plan and the Opera Ghost succeeded. The little lady wasn't able to move and if she tried it, she would fall from the armchair and the object would press down at her body. Helen's eyes widen from shock and it had past few minutes to make her understand what just happened.

"What the Hell is going on here?" Helen made an angry grimace and she cursed.

"My dear, as I realized yesterday I can't let you leave…" his voice was so calm. How could he be so calm in that situation?

"Why the heck you just tied me in the armchair? And dammit, what you realized that you can't leave me continue my life like a normal young girl?" Helen became even angrier with those circumstances.

"Actually, Helen dear, you know how to come to my lair and also, that I'm alive. Which means that, you – after you'll leave the lair – will go to the police and tell to them that I didn't find death and you are going to bring them down here so they'll catch me." the Opera Ghost was cold as an iceberg, "Am I right my dear, aren't I?"

"Holy shit! Did your parents hit you when you were young?" the Opera Ghost didn't reply at her vulgar comment, "'Cause _I_ would never do it! Why the Hell I would do something idiot like that?"

"Because ma chérie Hélène, if you showed to the police where am I, they'll catch me, they'll punish me and it means that I'll have death sentence and what will you win my dear?" the Phantom of the Opera falsely and ironically asked her, " _Your_ case will be forgotten and they'll see you as the heroine who gave to police the bloodthirsty Opera Ghost!" the masked man growled at her.

"Are you insane? Την ψύμ μ'έφαγε! Ζαντό! Άι είκον πράμα πάι-γίνετε!" Helen cursed in Pontiac dialogue, "And people say that books burn my mind and I'm having really stupid ideas about peace and equality between whole people of the earth and I have the idea that the Prince Charming with the white horse will come and carry me and marry me and we'll live the happily ever after! But you… your fantasy is beyond imagination! You're the maddest man that I've met in my life." Helen puffed.

The Phantom of the Opera didn't continue talking to her and he sat at his organ and he started composing as he did usually. The Opera Ghost stretched his fingers and he pressed few keys for the beginning. After, he closed his eyes and he started playing at the organ. Even if Helen wanted to yell at him, she closed her eyes and she mesmerized once again from his bewitched music. The Opera Ghost behaved at his organ like it was a woman who needed caresses. To be honest, the Opera Ghost used to want badly to make love at Christine. By the time those years past, he didn't want this burning desire, this fiery lust.

" _Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation.  
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.  
Silently the senses abandon their defenses.  
Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor.  
Grasp it, sense it tremulous and tender.  
Turn your face away from the garish light of day.  
Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light, and listen to the music of the night._

 _Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams, purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.  
Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar.  
And you'll live, as you've never lived before.  
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you.  
Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you.  
Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind,  
in this darkness that you know you cannot fight, _

_The darkness of the music of the night.  
Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before…" _the Phantom of the Opera played his song that he once sang to Christine, but Helen interrupted him as usual.

"Hey, you freak kidnapper!" Helen shouted at the composer and he pressed the wrong key, "Do you, goddamn, believe that you'll gonna seduce me with your music?"

"You said so yourself." his voice was as cold as an ice.

"I knew it!" Helen's voice triumphed, "Yesterday night you played the gentle masked man who will help a lady in need, but you… oh you…" she moved her index at him as she couldn't move her tied up wrist, "You played that role only to seduce me and justify your lustful desires for the other gender!" Helen shook her head violently, "You're a rapist and you're a pedophile. You are gonna rape me against my will so you'll fulfill your burning desires! That was all your dirty plan and you'll kill me and threw my naked raped figured at a trash can and people will find there my dead corpse!"

"How many books have you read?" the composer raised his eyebrow and he frankly didn't burst into laughs.

"I've read hundreds book the month before. But this month, as we are on the beginning, I've read only five; I've read the same books over and over again!" Helen puffed and turned to him angrily, "You are not gonna play games with my mind! And also, it's none of _your_ business! I'm not a fool as you think! I killed somebody yesterday night… No, that doesn't sound so good at all…"

The young adventurous lady – with the bad temper – started cursing him in Pontiac and Greek deliberately, so the Opera Ghost wouldn't be able to understand what she was telling him. The female character started cursing all his extended family or in other word, his kin. If the Phantom of the Opera was able to understand her, he would felicitate her cursing punchline, because the Opera Ghost hadn't that strong relationship with his cruel Mother, just like the other children had with their own. The beautiful as Snow White Greek Pontian started using a very bad language and she didn't stop screaming at him. Helen started saying how bad taste he had for his house and his costumes-masks-wigs, which was a big lie and she knew it. Another lie she said was that he had the worst singing voice and his music made her ears bleeding. But, the biggest lie Helen told to the Opera Ghost was that she hated his face – she didn't know about the deformities, yet – and she believed that he was a beast, the worst beast on the world! Actually, the last comment was an evil lie that she truly didn't believe a word that got out from her mouth. Frankly, she didn't say anything in French or English, because the Phantom of the Opera would totally need his Punjab Lasso!

"Helen," the Phantom of the Opera turned his gaze at her, "could you really please shut your mouth? I am telling you very kindly my dear."

"Me? To shut up? No way bitch! You are such an ass!" the Opera Ghost rolled his eyes when he heard her blaspheming like this way, "Hell yeah! I used those words and stop looking at me like a darned doggy!" the Greek young woman barked at him.

"Why are you behaving like a vulgar lady? I thought that you are a gentle woman and you have authorities."

"So what?" Helen spoke to him sarcastically, "And _I_ , I believed – you gave me that impression – that you were a gentleman. But actually you are irregular!" Helen took her tongue out at him.

The Opera Ghost couldn't help himself and he burst into laughs, "Irregular isn't for humans ma chérie." the Opera Ghost grinned.

"Really?" she raised her eyebrow, "You are a perverted bastard! Damn you!" Helen started shaking violently at the armchair and she was about to fall, "Please, monsieur Opera Ghost, let me go!" her voice was like a heartbroken kitten.

"But," the Phantom of the Opera wanted to play with her temper, "Weren't you the one who begged me to let her in my underground lair, were you? I think that this was what happened; you were a supplicant and you needed a shelter and I – as a good Christian I am – helped you. Jesus Christ said once in the Bible; _love each other_."

"Don't, my darned God, tell me that! I know it!" Helen growled at him and the Opera Ghost loved seeing her nerves in this way.

The Phantom of the Opera knew very well that he was playing with fire that moment. The Opera Ghost had a huge smirk on his face. Helen was like Hell that moment. She couldn't stop screaming and begging for help in the air. She knew exactly that nobody could hear her, but she wanted to try, at least. The little lady barked at him and she cursed him for ages. Helen breathed heavily and she didn't realize that her bluebell eyes were watering. The young Greek woman from Smyrna whished loudly that he would broke his both hands. She was really pissed off and the Phantom couldn't stop but chuckle at her. The Opera Ghost played with fire. The one thing that hurt him the most was the way she looked at him. That was killing him so much, and he didn't even know why. Her gaze was like a heartless and merciless Ice Queen – or even better, Snow White…

Helen was angry and mad with him and she knew about him very well. When someone mentions she knew about him very well, she knew from the stories she had heard since she came to Paris. People told her horror tales about him. For example, the Opera Ghost was like a living corpse, with pale yellow skin, black holes under his golden eyes and a hole for the place of his nose and he was the same with a skeleton. But, when she met him (face to face) she understood that people lied to her lot about his appearance. Also, she heard that he was a bloodthirsty manic who killed without a thought and he had made many murderous acts. Helen heard about his lustful desire for the Countess Christine de Chagny, when she was younger and she used to live at the Opera House. The famous quote she loved was; _your hands at the level of your eyes_! Helen wasn't a fan, but to be honest, she felt amazement hearing his life-story and the same time sorrowfulness for the bad he produced to the people who were beside him. The female character knew that she shouldn't trust him, but she was too pure and innocent to understand his cruelty.

"For Goodness' sake, let me leave!" Helen groaned, "I'm claustrophobic and darknessphobic!"

"Ma chérie," the Phantom of the Opera spoke at her, "do you know what does the word claustrophobic means? And also, the word darknessphobic doesn't exist." He tried to convince her.

"So what?" the young lady looked at him ironically, "First, I used the word claustrophobic, 'cause in my ears it hears aristocratically. Secondly, the word darknessphobic is mine inspiration! I'm a γλωσσοπλάστης!" Helen triumphed at the end.

"Γλωσσοπλάστης?" the Phantom of the Opera had a puzzled gaze.

"Γλωσσοπλάστης means," Helen thought for a moment, "I can't describe it in one word. Anyway, γλωσσοπλάστης is the person who creates words!"

 _So dynamic, so intelligent! Brava mon cœur!_ _Brava, brava, bravisima!_ the Opera Ghost looked at her with a careful and lovestruck gaze. Why he looked at her that way? He didn't know. His heart bit fast when their eyes locked. How he succeed to control himself and not come closer to her… to smell her scent? Her words became inaudible and her scent – levanter, cinnamon and rose – became heavier and he could smell it, making him want to ravish inside, the Phantom of the Opera started having fantasies for her and he couldn't help himself to stop. That burning desire hit him again, just like five years ago with Christine. Helen was totally the death of him!

"Hey son of the bitch, do you listen anything I tell you?" Helen yelled at him and he returned to the reality leaving his fantasies.

"Helen, shut it!" the glorious and intelligent musician shouted at her.

"Nope!" Helen broke his nerves. The Opera Ghost couldn't help it, but came closer to her holding a cloth. "Me; set the fuck up? Non monsieur! Seulement dans votre imag~ mphhh…!" the Opera Ghost tied the cloth as he closed her mouth with it. When he finished, Helen glared at him with her bluebell eyes and she was humming for few seconds but in the end she shut it. The Phantom of the Opera smiled cunningly and he sat at his armchair beside the organ.

"Much better!"

 **Soooo, *awkward crooked smile* this is the end of the first chapter. Now, I'll write some things about this new story.**

 **The Phantom of the Opera is G. Butler!** **(Yeah Jenny, it didn't seem obvious at all…)**

 **I'm starting making the Fan Fictions be much more longer and it takes me to write them for ages!**

 **Helen is Greek**

 **Helen wouldn't talk the way say she talks in this chapter. She is much more gentle. (I remember the time when I and some friends stuck at the elevator. One of them was just like Helen when she was pissed off)**

 **Our dear O.G. is in love with Helen, (Oh, what did you just said, I couldn't guess it.) but, he wouldn't admit it.**

 **There be some violence and some sins in this story (I'll try to make them as gentle as I can. Actually, my friends will help with the sin part, because I'm too shy and too pure as they say.)**

 **Characters from the movie will show up! (Show up, don't we say?) e.g. Madam Giry, Meg, Christine, Raoul, Carlotta…**

 **This story will have words and phrases from English, French, Greek, Pontiac and others, I guess… Don't worry, most of them will be translated in English – for the Greek and Pontiac – because they'll be important key words.**

 **Helen hates his guts right now…**


	2. Eating with Stubbornness

**Bonjour mon phanfans! How are you today? I hope PHANastic! *H.D. has a lack of ghost puns***

 **Is it another chapter re-make? O.M.G yeah! (it's Opera Mad Ghost** **)**

When the time passed since the Phantom of the Opera returned back to his Opera House after the disaster of the graceful Paris Opera House, and a half year passed, the Phantom of the Opera should rename himself to the Phantom of the Hunger! It was one starry night, when the abdomen of the infamous beastly ghost started rumbling. And his stomach was rumbling very very very loud! Of course it would have made such a nose, he hadn't eaten for ages! Everyone could say that it was actually normal. Not… people would be very confused about that he didn't eat for so long.

Behind the columns of the east façade of the Opera Garnier, the restaurant was located in a place where, when the building first opened; horse-drawn carriages would drop off ticket holders, arriving for a performance.

The façade of the restaurant was a veil of undulating glass, sliding between each pillar. With no visible structure, the glass was held in a place by a single strip of bent steel running along the arched curve of the ceiling. This steel strip was fixed to the connecting rods. The glass was therefore held in place as if _by magic_. The façade therefore allowed for clear views and a minimum impact.

Providing enough floor space to seat ninety people was another requirement for this limited space. The mezzanine was therefore created as continuous surface. Narrow columns extended upwards towards the molded plaster hull, which curved to form the edges of the handrail. This vessel, which had been slipped under the cupola, was a cloud formation floating between the existing elements of the room without touching them.

Quietly, almost insidiously, the soft protean curved of the mezzanine cover the space with a volume that arched, undulated, and floated above the guests. The space was open and turned outward.

The keystone of the existing dome remained visible from the ground floor, while suddenly becoming very close to the diners on the upper level. Sitting close to the stone arched of the ceiling, the symmetry of the cupola was no longer apparent, the reference points changed, and sense perception of the space was altered. In the curve of the hull above, immersed in warm red tones, the upper level became an intimate and private space.

The red carpeting flew down the steps of the main staircase dramatically, spreading out into the center of the black floor bellowed, and running under the tables until it arrived at the edge of the façade.

At the back of the room, in the area closest to the entrance to the Opera, the space became more protected and private, contrasting with the whiteness of the rest of the room. Long red booths line this space, creating the _lounge_ area for the restaurant. At the outside edge of the lounge, a long black bar snaked around a nearby column.

 _Maybe it's time to eat something_ ; the handsome-not-so-handsome-as-he-thought Opera Ghost chuckled at his thought. The infamous devilish composer of genius was even wondering how he endured without food all those months. It was mind-blowing if anyone could describe it! Even nowadays, same started starving when they don't eat for a half day! And he… he succeeded not to eat for a half year! That action of him should be written at Wide World's Records!

When the handsome infamous Phantom of the Opera went at the kitchen, he was shocked from the mess that his fired had cost it and, that the disfigured man – with the half deformed face that looked like sunburn – realized that he should totally fix that chaos! Everything was burned and it was like impossible to remodel even if he tried his best, but who said that the Phantom of the French Opera House wasn't as stubborn as a jackass? The hard work pleased him and mad made him forget about his sorrowful feelings about what had life brought to him and what had he done to deserve this inhuman confrontation from everyone in the world.

The galley – or even better the kitchen of the Opera Populairé – wasn't rebuilt in something very special, it was actually δουλειά του ποδαριού, as Helen would say, which means that he didn't his business very quickly, but it had wonderful advancement of three whole months. It kind of reminded him the old one not-burned kitchen of his Opera Garnier. The primary work surface was in the center of the kitchen it was large, heavy and sturdy table. The perimeter of the room held storage furniture, the cooking stove and the sink. A wide work aisle allowed access to the central work table from all sides. Movement around the kitchen was on _exterior lines._ The chef, named Monsieur Jean Le Blanc, advantage of that type of arrangement was that multiple cooks could work at the same time without getting in each other's way. The kitchen of the Paris Opera House was almost inevitably a multi-cook kitchen.

The handsome man, named the Phantom of the Opera, washed his hands and he started researching some classical French recipe and when he stopped at the page with _Garbure with garlic toast_ , the satanic genius read the recipe.

 _Ingredients_

 _4 oz. pancetta, cut into ½ " cubes_

 _1 Spanish onion, diced_

 _4 garlic cloves, crushed_

 _4 precooked confit duck legs_

 _3 ½ quarts unsalted chicken stock_

 _1 small head of Savoy cabbage (1 ½ - 2 Ib.), core removed, sliced into 1" x 3" strips_

 _2 carrots, peeled and cut into ¼ " slices_

 _3 stalks celery, diced_

 _1 medium-size leek (tough outer leaves removed), sliced into ¼" pieces_

 _½ Ib. Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1" cubes_

 _1 ½ cups dried cannellini beans, soaked in water overnight, strained_

 _A bouquet garni comprising 1 piece of leek (3" x 3"), 3 thyme sprigs, 1 rosemary sprig, 1 bay leaf, 3 parsley stems, and 2 sage sprigs tied with kitchen string_

 _Salt and pepper to taste_

 _4 heads garlic_

 _2 tsp. olive oil_

 _½ bunch parsley, chopped_

 _4 T soft butter_

 _12 slices sourdough bread_

After that, the gruesome – as some people mentioned he was – serial killer followed the directions to create that perfect and tasteful food for him.

The man heated a six-quart Dutch oven over medium-high heat, added the pancetta, and cooked, stirring, for four minutes or until its color was a golden brown. Next, removed and set aside, keeping the fat in the pot. After, the Angel of Music of the Comtess Christine de Chagny heated to medium; he added the diced onion and crushed garlic cloves, and cooked, stirring, for eight minutes.

After his previous actions, the masked man picked the meat from the confit duck legs, discarding the skin and bones, and shred. The Devil's Child incorporated the shredded duck meat with the onion-and-garlic mixture. He added the chicken stock, cabbage, carrots celery, leek, potatoes, cannellini beans, and bouquet garni. The Phantom of the Opera brought the soup to the simmer; then cooked, stirring occasionally, for forty-five minutes – which meant – until the vegetables were tender.

The Opera Ghost had preheated the oven to 350oF. After, he cut away the top quarter of garlic heads to expose the cloves. And, he drizzle the tops of the heads with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and wrapped each one in aluminum foil. The Phantom baked until garlic was very tender.

Once the garlic heads were cool enough to handle, the smiley Opera Ghost carefully squeezed the cloves out of the skins into a bowl. He used a spoon, to mash the softened garlic cloves with the chopped parsley and buttered to form a rough paste, then salted and peppered to taste.

The deformed man spread garlic paste on top of each of the slices of bread, and placed them in the oven until they were toasted. The Phantom of the Opera stirred the reserved pancetta into the soup, he removed the bouquet garni, season to taste, and he served immediately his self with a bottle of red wine.

The deformed man, who wore a porcelain half mask, ate his dinner at the broken and half-burnt-fixed kitchen, and the infamous Phantom of the Opera didn't mind that he was all alone at that moment. Indeed, the poor unfortunate soul saw its fate; he would be all alone for the rest of his life. With no one cared about him. With no love, no compassion… no human being would ever treat him like a human. The man with the devilish irresistible Irish accent and intoxicating singing voice waited patiently the death of him, so, he could be free from his chains, which grabbed him by his throat and they didn't even let him breathe.

The Phantom of the Opera cherished his dark, gloom, dreary and heavyhearted loneliness. His isolation was his only true lover that it would never leave him _. Very funny, Phantom. I didn't know that my humor was so painful, my ears are bleeding_ , the Opera Ghost was so strict at his self. Not even Madame Giry with the ballet girls was like that! The blue eyed Frenchman doubted his poor self every time. The genius composer was beating himself down every moment he could. _Christine was so lucky that left. Did you think that there's someone in that confounded who will ever love you? You fool, idiotic, monster, beast, Devil's Child…_ those were some of his very dark thoughts.

Three days had passed since Helen became prisoner of the infamous Phantom of the Opera. Three days had passed since the Pontian woman had stuck at the brown leather armchair of his. The days might seem that they were ages. Helen hated him more and more. The young lady hated his guts! She was so disgusted by him. If she had the chance, she would kick him just like the way she did with Monsieur François. But, she had authorities, and also, he seemed that he didn't want her like this way, to fulfill his sexual desires. The young adventurous chit, who was that moment a prisoner, wanted so badly to see him suffer and die. The only good thing – if there's any good thing – was that Helen didn't speak at him like the way she did at first. Actually, she didn't even talk to him or look at him. She was just like a big Drama Queen of her age! The Phantom of the Opera, from his place, was very confused with himself. He even asked himself – of course internally – why he did that. It wasn't his business what Helen would do with her life, right?

Poor girl, she didn't know why he did it, neither did he. But, it wasn't so difficult to realize what just happen to the Opera Ghost. In four words; he was in love. That's his problem. The infamous Phantom of the Opera, who was the threat of the workers of the Opera Populairé, was again in love. Mistaken, he was for the very first time in love. Since he met that joyful strange woman, he felt alive. The way she acted when she knew who he was – at the moment he apocalypse himself to her –, made him feel human. The way her furious bluebell eyes locked at his blue ones, looking him with hate and sorrowfulness at the same time, made his stomach had that illness. The illness of love, when those butterflies flew so quickly when someone is with the one they love. Or even the way her voice sounded, angelic. Or her figure, like God decided to create the most beautiful creature on the world. As it was obvious, the Phantom of the Opera was too stubborn to reveal to himself his feelings for her.

Maybe he was afraid. The deformed man was afraid of her reaction. What if she rejected him? He couldn't stand it, that's for sure. What if she did not reject him, but when she would see his abhorrent face, she would scream from fear and run away from him? He would blame his half deformed face for the rest of his life. What if she stayed with him, but the time she'd seen a handsome man – someone like the Comte Raoul de Chagny – and escape from his lair with her new good-looking lover? He couldn't stand living this once again; have the same fate just like what happened with Christine. What if she'd stay with him out of pity? That would hurt him like a lot. What if someone else tried to seduce her and the Opera Ghost gone mad and starting being his old murderous self? She would be terrified by him and try to find her way to freedom. What if… what if… those questions ran inside his head, but he did not seem to listen to them since he didn't even decide to let himself know that he got the illness of love.

Christine de Chagny was so different from Helen. Christine was taller from Helen; she was 173 centimeters, which meant that she was ten centimeters taller than Helen. The Countess de Chagny was a rich Swedish noblewoman. Christine used to be a rising star at the Opera Populairé as a soprano. The wife of the Earl de Chagny had big brownish eyes. Her lips were full and pink. If the Phantom of the Opera had both those women infront of him, Christine's skin would be the chocolate shade of white. The Countess had dark brown locks – which were from the time she married her childhood sweetheart in a high bun – and she wore wealthy clothes. Christine de Chagny saw the persons who were beside her only from their first appearance. Unfortunately, she didn't give them the chance to express themselves. That was true, due to the example; the love of the deformed musician – named Opera Ghost who dwelled at the catacombs of the Opera House – didn't touch her emotionally.

But Helen, _oh that Helen Sermetzidou…_ the Phantom of the Opera thought about her every time with a dreamy gaze. She was so different from Christine. Helen was a poor Greekwoman and an adventurous chit. The young lady used to be a maid at the mansion of the noble family Conér. The talkative Greekwoman was younger than Christine and always researched for adventure, mystery and dangerous. Helen looked like a porcelain doll. The woman's aura enchanted all the time the musician. The way she spoke English and French with her own Greek accent made him want to hear her talk more and more. Or even when she called his titlr for the very first time, _oh my Jesus Christ, you are the Opera Ghost?_...with joyfulness, happiness and full energy! Helen saw the people from their heart and she trusted them blindly. One important thing was, that the little lady made the adult musician yearning love, life. The Phantom of the Opera was alive… alive and ready to live anything in his life! Anything, if only he had her…

Even if those women, Helen Sermetzidou and Christine de Chagny, didn't have so many common things, they actually had some common. For example, they both belonged to a poor family. Also, the countess and the maid hadn't ancestry from France. Secondly, Christine and Helen had smooth skin and they were kissable women. Thirdly, they were both beautiful. They were seductive and they could enchant every single man. And lastly, both Christine and Helen found the key to the cold heart of the Opera Ghost.

Back to Paris at the sixth day of September where Helen became prisoner of her captor, the infamous bloodthirsty Phantom of the Opera. The darned day that the young adventurous chit who looked like Snow White was chained with a rope at the leather of the underground lair of the infamous deformed musician known also as Phantom of the Opera. When the innocent and joyful woman cursed like the worst person in the world, letting her anger took her over. The day that the Pontian Smyrnian woman decided to go away from Paris and start a new life at New York. The moment that the talkative gorgeous Greekwoman wanted so badly to have a candlestick at her hands and hit him for hours so his soul would leave his body and in his grave she would write; Rot In Hell. Her anger was so so… The day when Helen Sermetzidou realized that she should trust that masked man.

Trusting was one of Helen's weaknesses. The beautiful young woman always saw light in each dark and gloom soul. She could see beauty when others only saw ugliness. In Helen's mind words such as hatred, fear, sadness, and other words, were difficult to stick inside. Even the monstrous serial killer of Paris she trusted! Her mind was pure and innocent not knowing the cruelty of darkness but only researching the light. The young lovely chit, who made the heart of the Opera Ghost, ached only seeing her, thought that the Phantom of the Opera had some light inside him, some spark, and he wasn't that raged beastly monster that everybody had told her. Her weakness, she saw light everywhere were dark should be triumphed.

In contrast, the Phantom of the Opera had lack of that trusting feeling. Why couldn't he trust someone? Because of his past. The Father never showed his face in his child's life. He was a famous architect and he left his family, when his wife was still pregnant. The Mother abandoned her only child, when the little boy was five to six. She sold him at Gypsies for a musty rotten half loaf of bread! He became the famous Devil's Child and everyone laughed at him. He chased everyone in the Opera House… _his_ Opera House. The deformed man fell in love with the wrong person. Why didn't Christine come to ask him, even for once, if he was alright, or tell him to leave the Opera Populairé because they put a trap on him? Why Christine spoke to him about compassion and freedom, while she destroyed his life the moment she took off his mask as he confessed his love to her? He couldn't trust someone.

As someone could realize it, the Phantom of the Opera and Helen Sermetzidou were like Yin and Yang. The good and the evil. The creation and the destruction. The good luck and the bad luck. The life and death. The sun and the moon. Persephone and Hades. The day and the night. The beauty and the ugliness. The peace and war. The light and darkness. The love and hatred. The water and the fire. The white and black. The angel and the demon. The joy and the sorrow. The freedom and the slavery. The wealth and the poverty. The health and the illness. The Heaven and Hell. The Spring and the Autumn. The Summer and Winter. The hope and despair. In good, there's a little bad and in bad, there's a little good. Without Yin there's no Yang, and without Yang there's no Yin. With the help of the Yin and Yang, the balance of the world exists.

The symbol of the Yin and Yang, also known as Tai Chi or Taiqi symbol, consists of a circle equally divide into black and white sections by a reverse S-like shape. Within the black section is a small circle of white. Within the white section is a small circle of black. Each of the individual aspects of the Yin Yang symbol has a significant meaning, as did the entire Yin Yang.

According to Taoist principles, the forces of everything in the universe are in constant motion. As the movement continues, each of the forces of energy gradually changes to other, Yin to Yang and Yang to Yin.

The meaning of the Yin Yang symbol encompasses harmony and balance within the universe. They exist in everything around people and were the basis of life as nothing can exist by itself. That concept is beautifully illustrated in examples of Yin Yang art creates in many different typed of art forms.

In the Chinese people culture, the Yin and Yang were opposite in nature but they believed that they attract each other. Just like in the real life situation, opposite sides attract each other. The Chinese believe that when they attract to each other, they form five elements that are believed to create the universe. These elements include water, earth, fire, metal and wood.

Helen was the Yang in the Yin of the Phantom of the Opera. She was bright, happily and joyfully woman. The Greekwoman loved clothes with light colours. The Pontian sixteen years old girl preferred mostly the sunny days of Summer or Spring. The maid had only good thoughts for everyone. She was like an angel from Heaven, who landed on earth. Helen smiled at everybody with her eyes too! The young adventurous chit was innocent and cherubic not knowing the resentment. Every step she took, she beautified the whole world, even the darkest places. Like Yang, Helen produced every good stuff in the way of hers. Little Helen was a cheerful, merry and halcyon young lady. She was always ready to see the good side of everyone and save them from their sorrowfulness. One of her believes were hope, freedom and peace. She was like Persephone who was captive by Hades. Helen was his sun and his life.

The Opera Ghost was the Yin in the Yang of Helen. He was dark, gloom and disheartening. The taste in clothes of the Frenchman was in dark colours, same those to funeral. The Parisian fourty-one years old man enjoyed the rainy days of Autumn and the snowy snowstorms of Winter. The deformed musician learned that there was no good side to everyone. If there was a being, a being that was kindhearted, that being wouldn't survive… The Opera's Phantom was the same as a demon of Hell who pretended to be an angel of Heaven who landed on earth. In his expressions, people could see hatred, abhorrence and detestation. The poor unfortunate soul learnt from his early young age the cruelty of humanity. Everywhere he went, he destructed everything. Even someone could mention the name, _the Phantom of the Opera_ , cold blood would run in their veins and their fear would be unbearable! Like Yang, the Opera Ghost was a merciless and cold man. The masked Ghost was a malicious, a wicked, a malign, a vicious and sinister man. He knew that in the souls of each human being, hatred and loathing would triumph without second thoughts. He was just the same as Hades who kidnapped Persephone to earn her trust and love and he locked her at his Underworld Kingdom. He was her abhorrence and her death.

The story of Hades and Persephone was a romantic and graceful love story, kind of the story the Phantom of the Opera and Helen. First and foremost the God of the Underworld and destruction met the daughter of Demeter under very strange circumstances. The composer of the Don Juan Triumphant met the daughter of the chef – of a very rich Turkish family – under very odd situation. Secondly, Hades fell in love with Persephone the first moment he saw her. The Phantom of the Opera fell heads-over-heels in love with Helen just like thunders hit the ground violently. Next, the God of the dead people had for his captive the young pretty woman to not lose her. The deformed genius chained in the armchair the real life Snow White, due to he didn't want her to go away from him, to go to America, New York. Unfortunately, the Phantom of the magnificent Grand Pale didn't let his own self to know that he was in love with the young Greekwoman, but Hades knew that he fell for Demeter's only child.

Everything began after Gods and Goddesses gained ascendancy the world after they destroyed the Titans. Zeus, King of all the Gods, had three sisters; Hera, Queen of the Gods, - was also his wife and the Goddess of Marriage, Hestia was the Goddess of Home and Hearth and Demeter was Goddess of Harvest, responsible for the crops and for feeding the people.

Demeter was loved by all humans for their gift of soil and gentle, mild weather to grow their crops. They worshipped her for her caring and kindness. She was very much a hands on and happy to help sort of Goddess.

Persephone was Demeter's only child. Like her mother, she was kind and caring, with a happy nature and the most dazzling smile. She was the sort of a person who spread light and happiness wherever she went and so, naturally, she was loved by everyone but most especially by her mother.

Demeter liked nothing more than to spend hours in the company of her delightful daughter, chatting and laughing, watching her grow into a radiant young woman and seeing the way she enchanted those around her.

Persephone was wandering with Artemis and Athena in the meadows gathering flowers for Demeter. She moved happily through the grass, picking fragrant blooms. Wafting on the gentle breeze, the most exquisite perfume caught her attention.

"I must have this for my mother," she thought and followed the delicious scent as it led her away from her friends. Then she espied the narcissus and stooped to savour its perfume in full.

Unbeknown to Persephone, Hades – mighty ruler of the Underworld – had spied her on one of his trips to the world above. He was dazzled by her beauty, her elegance and her charm. He decided that he must have her as his wife. Knowing that Demeter would never agree to her daughter living with him in his gloomy world of the dead, he decided to visit his brother, Zeus, to discuss the matter. Surprisingly, the Great God Zeus agreed to Hades' plan, to abduct the young woman and take her to his realm.

Persephone glanced up from the magical bloom and noticed little birds anxiously twittering and fluttering like trapped moths in a spider's web. The sky began to turn grey and then darkened still further until it was black. There was a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very air around her and the ground began to shift and shudder. A crack suddenly appeared in the surface of the earth and, as Persephone watched in fear, in awe, a great chasm opened up before her.

With a deafening boom, a hiss of steam and clouds of inky-black, billowing smoke Hades appeared, driving his horse drawn chariot of black and gold. Persephone froze in shock, the freshly picked flowers spilling from her fingers. Hades leant from the chariot, scooped her up and turned his horses back towards the opening.

At last Persephone screamed, "Mother, mother, help me," as down, deep down, into the widening crack in the earth the chariot plunged. Cavernous rocks split apart to make way. It was a world of sparse light; all black and grey.

Hades had led a sad and lonely life in the depths below. But that moment enlivened and enchanted by the fair Persephone, could the dark lord of the Underworld really be in love? Using all his power of persuasion, he pleaded with her to stay and be his bride, to rule with him in the Underworld. But this way not the world in this beautiful, bright young woman wanted to live.

At first, Persephone cried and cried, until she had no more tears left to weep. She refused all offers of food, for she heard the legend that those who eat in the Underworld could never be able to return to the world of the Livings. So she determined not to let a morsel of food pass her lips.

Each day, Hades would visit the splendid chamber he had prepared for Persephone, bringing dainty morsels to tempt her and declaring his love. Each day, she turned away, refusing to listen to his honeyed words. However, gradually, she began to look around her and could not help but admire the tasteful but luxurious decorations, the soft, silky furnishings and the sparkling bejeweled surfaces.

One day, as he entered, she turned and looked at Hades himself. A dark, strong face and hypnotic eyes, filled with sadness, affection and a little cunning looked back. He stretched out his hand and the girl tentatively put hers into it.

"Come, my love, let me show you my domain. Come and see the world to which you bring such light and of which you can be Queen, if only you will marry me."

Meanwhile, Demeter was beside herself with grief. Her daughter had not returned and no trace of her was found apart from a few wilting flowers. Demeter roamed the countryside searching and seeking far and wide. At first, she was angry that anyone could have taken her beautiful daughter but soon her fury turned to sadness and despair and, as a consequence, the earth was sad along with her.

The crops did not thrive, the land became barren and sorrow began to creep over the earth like a thick fog.

"Who will help me find my daughter?" wailed Demeter with her arms lifted towards the sky.

It was at that moment, where Helios, God of Sun, took pity on the distraught Demeter and told her the truth, for he had clearly see what had happened whilst on his daily journey across the sky and felt sorry for the grieving mother.

"Hades has stolen your daughter and taken her down to his dark realm to be his bride," he explained.

"What? He has dared such a wicked act under the nose of the great Zeus?" Demeter shrieked and Helios gulped.

"Fair Demeter, I only tell you what I know. I am sorry to be the one… but Zeus himself agreed to the union."

At that, Demeter's wrath knew no bounds. Anger most terrible and most savage flared in her heart. She strode to foot of Olympus and called upon Zeus and all the Gods to hear her oath, which was like a howl of a desperate wounded female wolf.

"Never again shall I set foot on Olympus and never again shall I let the ground be fruitful and yield its crops, until I once again behold my beloved daughter whom you have conspired to steal from me."

Zeus, watching from on high and listening his sister's words, became worried by how events were turning out.

 _If the crops fail the people will be starving,_ he thought at once just like he threw his thunders, _and they will blame me and then who will worship me anymore? I must do something, but what?_

"Hermes!" Zeus had a thought, "I shall send my messenger, and he usually sorts things out and manages to smooth things over." Indeed, Hermes was good at his job and agreed to start his journey to the Underworld immediately and to bring Persephone back.

Each day now, Persephone would let herself be led by Hades to explore his Kingdom of Underworld, which was the last dwelling of every soul. Her inner sunshine lit up the once gloomy world. Her kind heart was moved by the plight of the souls first arriving in the Underworld; they were lost and bewildered, in need of sympathetic help and guidance, which she could give.

No less was Persephone's kind heart moved by Hades himself; his sincerity and patience were winning her over. She still missed her mother terribly, but she had begun to enjoy the company of this elegant, powerful and adoring God, and was intrigued by the idea of being Queen of Underworld.

As Hermes arrived, in the distance he saw Persephone and Hades sitting together on a sumptuous couch. Hades held a pomegranate in his hands.

"Persephone, my love, I am so worried that you will fade away if you do not eat. Look at this sweet fruit, taste just a little for pities' shake." Looking deep into his eyes, the girl carefully reached out her hand and took the luscious fruit to her lips. Deliberately, Persephone swallowed only few seeds, just only six.

 _Oh no!_ Hermes' mind ran like a storm _, I'm too late right now… Persephone is from now on onwards committed to Hades and the Underworld._ If he was going to fulfill Zeus' command, he was going to have to use all his negotiating skills to strike a deal with the powerful ruler. Besides, that's what Hermes was unbeatable.

"Great Hades," he began, moving forward in the dim light. Hades knew why the Gods' messenger was there, and knew that he would have to part with his dearest Persephone. But as the young girl had eaten with her own free will, the cunning God knew that she would have to return to him as well.

"She has eaten six seeds," Hades said with a triumph in his voice, "I'm willing to let Persephone go to her mother for six months each year and for the following six months she will return to rule with me as my Queen."

After agreeing to the deal, Demeter restored Earth's fertility and returned to Olympus with her cherished daughter. But when the time came for Persephone to return to the Underworld, the earth became colder and less fertile until her reemergence months later. And so, it was agreed. Every Spring Demeter made sure flowers blossom on the meadows and the mountains bloom to welcome home her loving daughter Persephone. Every Autumn Demeter shed tears, the leaves fell and the crops were at and end, as her daughter returned – willingly – as the Queen of Underworld to Hades, her husband. Until Spring, when the cycle started again!

To the Greeks, the return of Persephone from the Underworld symbolized the return of life in Spring. Each Spring, as the earth returned to life, some Greeks observed a sacred ritual in which the story of Demeter and Persephone was enacted.

Actually, everyone knew the love story of Hades and Persephone, but who knew who they truly were? Not only as the God of the Underworld and the daughter of the Goddess of the Harvest, but more… not only as two lovers, just like Romeo and Juliet whose love was forbidden and it was the reason of their inequitable death. Something more that rarely people knew. Practically, only the Greek people would knew who they were, but also, those who loved and amazed the Ancient Greek culture.

Hades was both the name of the Ancient Greek God of the Underworld and the name of the shadowy place below the earth which was considered the final destination for the souls of the dead. Perhaps the most feared of the Gods, he was described by both Homer and Hesiod as pitiless, loathsome and monstrous Hades.

In Archaic and Classical Greek art, Hades was most often represented as a more matured man, breaded and holding a scepter, a two-pronged spear m a libation vase, or a cornucopia – symbolic of the mineral and vegetable wealth which came from the ground. On occasion he was seated on an ebony throne or rode a chariot pulled by black horses, often with his wife – Persephone – beside him.

The God Hermes was believed to lead souls to the river Styx in the Underworld, at which point the aged boatman Charon ferried them to the gates of Hades where Kerberos – the ferocious three-headed dog with serpents coming out of its body – stood guard to keep souls in, rather than to keep others out. It was for payment to Charon that bereaved family member put a coin in the mouth of the deceased and it was mostly a low-value obol. The unburied or those without the means to pay the boatman were condemned to wonder on Earth as ghosts. This belief hinted at the ambiguous nature of Hades. It was not necessarily a place of torment and suffering but in most cases, simply the final resting place of the soul.

On arrival of the gates of Hades, the final destination of the souls was determined by assessment of their actions whilst they were alive. Traditionally, the three judges of the souls were Minos, Rhadamanthys and Aiakos, themselves noted for their honorable lives. Souls judged to have led especially good lives were first taken to drink the waters of the River Lethe which made them forget all bad things, and then they were taken to the idyllic Elysian Fields. Those souls judged to have led bad lives were put in the hands of Furies and taken to Tartarus, the lowest level of Hades, to receive punishment for their misdeeds. The worst-offending souls, those who had offended the Gods with their impiety, were condemned to eternal torment. Examples of those so punished were Sisyphus who had to forever roll a rock up a hill, Tantalus who could never quench his thirst, Oknos who plaited one end of a rope while a donkey ate the other end, the daughters of Danaus who had to try and fill a sieve with water, and Ixion who was tied to an ever-spinning wheel.

Persephone was the Greek Goddess of Vegetation, especially gain, and wife of Hades, with whom she ruled the Underworld. An important element of the Eleusinian Mysteries and the Thesmophoria Festival, the Goddess was worshipped throughout the Greek world and frequently appeared in all forms of Greek art.

In many ancient cults the Goddess, along with her mother Demeter, was associated with vegetation and grain. In the guise she was most often referred to as Kore, signifying both daughter and maiden. In Greek mythology, the Goddess, as wife of Hades, as the Queen of the Underworld and took her other name, Persephone. In that guise, she was seen as a protectress in the after-life, although Hesiod repeatedly described her as dread Persephone in his Theogony. In various other myths, Persephone was the mother of Dionysus and squabbled Aphrodite for the attentions of devilishly handsome Hades, the two settling to share the famous lover in split shifts. In the Roman world the Goddess was known as Proserpina.

The story of Demeter and Persephone was symbolic of the changing seasons and the perennial change from life to death, to life once more – or, in other words – the changes from Summer to Winter and the return of life in Spring as seen in agriculture. The cycle became one of the rituals of the sacred Eleusinian Mysteries; indeed, the symbols of the cult where ears of corn and a torch, reminding Demeter's search for Persephone ad those rituals were carried out at night. As all initiates were bound by sacred oath not to reveal the details of the Mysteries.

Another interpretation of the Persephone myth might be that it represented when the Greeks stored their grain underground for part of the year in order to protect it from Summer heat. In favour of this argument was that in Greece's climate seeds were sown in the Autumn and quickly germinated to grow throughout the Winter time. Therefore, Persephone's time besides her husband Hades would not equate with Winter in the agricultural season but, rather, with Summer. Whatever the exact significance, the association between Persephone and agriculture was firmly established in rituals, literature, and ancient art. Finally, the myth of Hades' abduction might also reference the Greek practice of girls marrying their early teens, a loss to their mothers as Persephone was to Demeter.

The mansion of the de Chagny family was one the most astonishing Parisian habitation. There were few families in whole Paris that had such a beauteous, pulchritudinous and étonnant house. One of those providential families was the line of the de Chagnys. The house was built with that splendid disregard for compactness which was such a feature of the better quality.

There was no shortage of space here – six reception rooms and eleven bedrooms. In fact, the entire property was a strong mix of big house and big garden in a magnificent streamside setting beside the Seine River.

The array of reception rooms was formidable and each was big, elegant and as well finished as the exterior. The blissful moment, that Christine came for the first time at the mansion, she was kind of apprehensive. She was the Christine Daaé. The woman who was the pray of the inhuman monstrous Phantom of the Opera. She was the reason of the destruction of the Grand Pale. At first, the family of the Vicomte – as it was his title that period – didn't welcome her, at the first place, with a warm smile and hug. As the time passed everything had changed.

The entrance hall had a double height ceiling and galleried landing in an unusually tall campanile tower. Most of the reception rooms were focused on the lake, none more so than the drawing-room which was almost thirty feet by twenty four feet. It had a lovely polished oak floor and an attractive fireplace with carved timber surround. The Count family usually spent its Christmas starry snowy nights beside the fireplace. The Earl Raoul de Chagny sat at his brown leather armchair reading a good book. The Countess Christine de Chagny sang French and Swedish Christmas carol with her four children. The little demons ran around the Christmas tree and played with their Christmas presents.

There were double doors leading into the morning-room which had particularly fine plasterwork. Off the hall there was also a striking ante-room which leaded to the dining-room. The reception rooms were served by a fine kitchen completed the customary Aga.

Throughout the house, the period detail had been preserved with great care. Purists would probably view that change of style as a kind of sacrilege but like it or not, the same thing was sadly happening in an increasing number of period homes throughout the country.

Raoul de Chagny and Christine de Chagny had four children, where the older of all was the little Viscount Gustave de Chagny. The young boy was, at that time of period, ten years old. Gustave was a fragile and loving child. His hair was black and curly, just like his grandfather Philbert. The petit garcon's eyes huge and almond-like brownish. His skin had some freckles, which made him look like a very cute ready-to-be-eaten-like-a-chocolate-cookie boy. Gustave was a smiley young child, who loved listening to his mother's dark stories of the North and especially of the Angel of Music. The petit child the most of the time wore his favourite dark blue cap.

The second child, Renesmeé de Chagny. The eight years old girl was just like her father with little details of her cherry-like mother. The eyes of the baby girl Renée were owl-like and a dark color of blue, a blue same to nebulous with thunders night sky. Her cheeks were rosy and full begging somebody to pinch them. Her short blond curls were in two pigtails and her little fringes fell o her eyes and as she couldn't see, Renée blew out so she might be able to see something. She had always her lips in a pout, ready to speak, which was that her mother did. The little one loved its mother's stories. They were different and that made them more appealing than any other stories she had ever heard.

Little Renesmeé de Chagny had a fraternal twin brother, whose name was Janvier de Chagny. Janvier meant the one who was born in wintery month, January. The petit baby boy was in the same age with Renée. In fact, Jan was two hours younger from Renée. The eyes of his were in a little blue color and they were glowing every time he looked straight into the eyes of each living being. His short hair was golden as the sunlight and fizzy like the lion who didn't brush his hair. Janvier fancied his mother's stories as every member of the de Chagny family did.

The Countess Christine de Chagny had some complications during her twins' birth. Effectively, Christine was about to die during the birth, she, as luck would have it, survived and she still could breathe and exhale as she did before. Furthermore, the twins de Chagny might be the dead of the family, by virtue of both Renée's and Jan's umbilical cords were intertwine with each other's neck! That they both, mother and the babies, lived; was a miraculous miracle!

And the youngest of all the siblings de Chagny was the little boy Patrice Pascal de Chagny. The name Patrice was translated as the one who was a nobleman, and his other name; Pascal, was translated as the one who was born on Easter or in other words, Passover. The child was only few months old, accurately Pat was just seven months old. He had his father's eyes; cerulean as the brine ocean who was having turmoil. He was a freckly baby boy. The little boy was smiling all the time and he was crying when he wasn't close to his mother, Christine. The young de Chagny couldn't sleep unless his mother sang to him the song about the Angel of Music. Pat had a lot of curiosity about the world he was born. If the Phantom of the Opera had been able to know that the youngest member of the family de Chagny wanted to discover what was happening to the world that he was from that moment seven months old, he would say; _curiosity killed the cat_ , and Helen would object; _but satisfaction brought it back!_

Sometimes, people might ask why the genius composer, alias the Phantom of the Opera, had fallen hardly, deeply and desperately in love with Helen. In the first place, the young Pontian Greekwoman was the most gorgeous, sexy and alluring woman he had ever saw in his entire life! The word which started with the s- letter would never come out of his mouth, unless the Opera Ghost was awfully drunk. The little young chit, who captured the heart of the deformed masked man with the cold as an iceberg heart, actually touched the perfection. In the second instance, the young lady was one of the… wrong, Helen was the only human being who handled being with the gruesome disfigured Devil's Child, without fearing. Well, actually Madame Giry, her daughter and the Persian bore his existence. Helen behaved him as he was a human too. She was glad meeting him – for the first place –, she made a hearty handshake with him, she blushed hardly when he offered her to sleep in his bed, she talked about her – rather interesting – night adventure freely to him, she bid him goodnight and good-morning, she asked him if he slept well. Oh, how interesting is the feeling when you know someone cares about you, asks about. She turned insane and she growled at him when he had her chained… she behaved him as if she had a human infront of her. The Phantom of the Opera was in despair in love with Helen.

From the other place, people possibly might ask why Helen MUST, not should, but MUST, fall in love with the Phantom of the Opera. First and foremost the dearest Opera Ghost was the most insane human creature in the world and Helen with the radiant beauty would totally love it! The infâme le fantôme de l'Opéra was full with mystery and adventure, which would possibly enchanted her! His life, his past to be corrected, was darker than his dark alleys in his Opera House. Helen would surely want to lead him to the freedom, to save him from his despondency.

Also, the intelligent musician would show her a world filled with music… his music… his dark, seductive, lustful, sexual music. The prominent Opera Ghost would teach her to see the world from a different point of view. Helen would let her spirit start to soar at the Heavens and probably she would be intoxicated by him even more, if she heard him singing _The Music of the Night_ or _The Point of no Return_. Helen Sermetzidou would give all her soul to him, be his, and be his everything. And from his part, the Phantom of the Opera would only belong to her, only hers. They would be two lovers, two passionate lovers that were so different but the same time they made a perfect harmony like Yin and Yang.

"Well, mademoiselle Sermetzidou, I reckon that you are hungry. You haven't eaten anything for a long time…" the blue as the depths of the sea eyes of the world-wide-known Phantom of the Opera glimmed when they locked with her own bluebell eyes and the Phantom couldn't stop smirking.

Helen looked at him with hatred and ready to bark at him, but she kept her mouth shut. There was no velvet cloth, which didn't let her talk or even imprecate him. When the handsome as Hell Opera Ghost gagged the gorgeous as Snow White maiden had passed few hours – three to four, he didn't remember – and he wanted to hear her voice so badly – even if that meant that she would curse him – so, he untied the cloth. The worst thing of all was Helen didn't say a single word. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only dead silence. That silence was his punishment for not letting her go. What sins did he just pay again? The Angel of Hell craved for her voice's sound, her angelic voice… a mix of English, French, Greek, and Pontiac with her own special Greek accent. The disfigured intelligent man cherished the way her tongue ran when she was talking to him. How awfully in the memory of her speaking, he hoped that instead of the words she said, she could moan his name as he would rip her and love her physically and affectionately.

The mind of the Phantom of the Opera played very _childish_ and _idiotic_ _fantasies_ , as he could tell them, about Helen and him. The sixteen years old Greek Pontian woman became the forbidden fruit at the Garden of Edem, which the Opera Ghost wanted so badly to taste… so badly. Moreover, the thoughts of the masked composer with the white as snow porcelain mask were haunted by those curves of hers. The imagine of kissing hungrily those bloody lips passed from his dirty mind, also. The Opera Ghost wanted so awfully to touch and to fondle its part of her smooth snowy-like skin. The Devil's Child craved for her touches, her moans… _How her angelic voice would be heard like when she would moan for me, moan my name? Stop this now, you freak monster! You don't have the right to enjoy those joys of flesh! Not with her!_

No response came out of her mouth, but the Phantom of the Opera could clearly read her bluebell eyes. Helen was starving, she was starving terribly. It was actually normal, due to the Pontian Greekwoman didn't eat for three long days, and as the Phantom would say; _she is very fragile and delicate woman and she needs to eat._ Hunger was one of the physiological human matters of necessity. Food was a basic requirement. Without alimentation, the Phantom of the Opera was mindful of the fact about Helen who wouldn't last through without a single bite of food. Truly, he was impressed that she successfully didn't eat for so long. One fact that made the infamous destroyer of the Grand Pale realize her need to eat was when her stomach started slightly grumbling, but he could clearly hear it and couldn't stop smiling at her tenderly.

The genius deformed musician cooked to her his favourite soup, the well-known French Tomato Soup. The Opera Ghost sat at one armchair facing the young lovely adventurous chit. He was grinning at her and he held at his gloved hands the soup bowl. The handsome as Hell Ghost tried to feed the stubborn maiden. The soup was hot and he blew gently each spoonful. Who said it was easy to feed his beloved and cherished Greekwoman?

"Please, ma chérie, mon ange, eat your soup…" the Phantom spoke with her with his angelic and smooth voice of seduction. Helen didn't response, but she was humming and trying to move and shake her head.

"Ma Hélène, you must eat, my dear, you are starving…" Helen looked at him with a way like she said; _so? If I'll die from starving, I'll be free from you!_ "But," the Phantom smirked and it was like he read her thoughts, "you cannot die mon stupide!"

Helen was hungry so much and she would eat a whole cow all alone, so she opened her mouth slightly to eat, teasingly. She couldn't help it, and a muffled moan escape from her lips causing her to turn red from embarrassment. _So, that's how, my sweetheart, you moan!_ The Phantom of the Opera pondered with a foolish smirk that Helen wanted to punch his face. _How wonderfully it would be, if you moan my name instead of moaning for the soup… Wait, what the bloody Hell are you thinking, you Devil's Child? I must stop those thoughts… stop those thoughts… those thoughts…_

"Marvelously, my sweetie, you ate all your soup and now, you will grow into an independent young lady", a huge grin applied his masked figure.

Helen had a slight seductive smirk and as the Phantom was about to stand and leave, she moved her index towards him, and the deformed man smiled at her cunningly. "What's the matter, my dear, are you going to confess your love to me?" Helen wanted to vomit in the thought of this, but she kept her bewitching gaze and she kept moving her index to the Phantom as he came closer to her.

"Mmm… what are you planning, my Angel?"

And as they were both at a close distance that their noses were slightly touched and they could feel the hot breath against each other's face, actually only Helen could feel his breath, because her lips were sealed. The fragrance of the Opera Ghost left Helen rolling her eyes from the intense pleasure. The Phantom of the Opera wore strong and expensive cologne. Also, the smell of the smoke and of the candles made him even more tantalizing and nubile. The moment Helen opened her lips a loud belch came out! The Phantom of the Opera jumped from the sit and he left.

"Damn it to Hell, Helen! What the exactly bloody Hell was that?" the Phantom barked at her, and Helen couldn't stop but laughing with the heart of hers at him. A small grin crossed his face when she didn't see him. Oh my endearing Helen, what I will do now with you?

 **Well, well, well… *H.D. mimics A. Jolie from Maleficent* you have to excuse me for not updating, thanks to my allergic, so, I'm ill to death! Yeah… now, let's see some new facts…**

 **Helen was TOO nasty when she burped on O.G.**

 **The O.G. is having a name! You know, he is Erik, but until then, when I will represent you the Erik, he is gonna stay right now as O.G., but I needed to let you know.**

 **You will learn Helen's full huge name! Helen's nickname is Lena.**

 **Helen MUST fall for the O.G.! Who agree? *raises hands and foot***

 **I realize that the name is** _ **de Chagny**_ **, not** _ **de Changy**_ **. Oops…**

 **They are both meant to be, soulmates! This is one of my many OTPs**

 **The O.G. is 188 centimeters and Helen is 163 centimeters (my height!** **) which means that he is 25 centimeters taller! Wow…**

 **Helen is like a dolly doll. She is like a fake thing!**

 **A note for me so I wouldn't forget; the O.G. is 41 years old (actually 40, but we will soon celebrate his birthday. Oops, I'm spoiling… *grins*), Helen is 16 years old, which means that she is 25 years younger. Wait, how many years she is younger?**

 **Wait a minute. I made a HUGE realization! Is O.G. acting flirty or it's in my mind?**

 **Kisses**

 **H.D.**


	3. Tea

**Salut mes attachantes lectures! Well, I have to warn you for this chapter; if you have eaten or have drunk, DON'T READ! Oh, I'm just kidding! *H.D. has the worst sense of humour on the world* Really, you'll be shocked! Do not tell me that I didn't warn ya… *smirks and blushes***

* * *

The Paris that day with the azure sky that morning was absolutely dreamy. Little children were running everywhere on the place, while they were playing. Small birds cheep and chattered while they were flying above people's heads. The people were unpleased with this current fact and they couldn't let themselves enjoy the enchantment of the bird's song. The shopkeepers opened their stores early early in the morning and they pinned on their faces the most tender, but the same time mock, smile. Women with thin silhouette – through their corset that mostly left them breathless, and big hats with feathers of peacock or ostrich, ran at the town with their shopping bags. The soft cold zephyr touched harmlessly and gently each peaceful and lonely soul on its path, just like the lone wolf Phantom of the Opera.

The Phantom of the Opera was, as always, irresistibly handsome. The masked man didn't wear his black clothing, which sometimes suited to an obsequy – alias funeral. His clothing was in a light colour. His pants and suit were in dark grayish cast. Also, the waistcoat and the ascot tie of the Opera's madman were in a dark green colour. In a bit darker shade of grey, the top-hat, the long coat and the leather gloves completed his gorgeous look. The Opera Ghost wore his slicked ebony peruke and his porcelain snow-like half mask, which matched perfectly at his face and it hid his deformities. The Phantom of the Opera grabbed the eye of all the females and they looked at him with leer and lustful gaze.

"Bonjour monsieur," women looked at him with a lovestruck gaze – which caused him to turn red from embarrassment – and they tried to flirt with him. His only responses were a nod and a sexy grin, which made the global warming worse and some ladies ready to faint.

Even if the most attractive woman passed from his path, he wouldn't rumble her. For example in the event that the Comtess Christine de Chagny decided to stay with him for the rest of his life, the Phantom of the Opera would look at her with no expression on his face and he would burst into laughs. Another example would be, if the Princess of France came and ask his hand in marriage, the deformed musician would laugh at her face and tell her that she wasn't his chatty Greekwoman. Also, if the most beautiful Persian woman with irresistible cat-like greenish eyes and seductive appearance, the lips of the masked genius would move turning her down. Even if that meant that it should cost his life! _Please_ , the Opera Ghost thought internally, _there is no more beautiful woman than my Helen!_

The Phantom of the Opera was thinking of her. He was actually only thinking of Helen. And, as the madman of the Opera Garnier had his walk under the Parisian sky, he was smiling like a fool only in the thought of her. The Phantom hadn't smile for a long time ago… actually, Helen was the first person that made him smile that way. If there was a case that the Angel of Music had a smile approaching his figures there would be few reasons. The first was his sadistic and merciless murders. He felt a longing lust when his hands, or his beloved Punjab Lasso, choked someone and his unfortunate victims tried to breathe and they died. The second was when he threaded the Opera's managers or the personnel. The third reason was the old feather-brained Christine Daaé, the new… the Comtess Christine de Chagny, he wasn't into her. Helen Sermetzidou was something absolutely totally different. The radiant beauty, her smile… everything on her made him smile like a lamebrain teenager who was close to their crush. It was a different kind of smile, an odd smile of a human person who counted even the seconds that passed when he was or wasn't close to her. But, the Opera Ghost didn't take a flower and cut its petals asking the same question over and over again; _she loves me, she loves me not…_

The Phantom of the Opera used to feel coldness and isolation in his poor unfortunate soul. All those five years, the Opera's Phantom felt so much lonesome. Fortunately, the Phantom of the Opera had a few friends. Their names were Antoinette Giry, Marguerite Giry and Nadir Khan. He felt emptiness in his heart, specifically when his Angel of Music abandoned him after the events of his Don Juan Triumphant. Actually, it was _his_ decision to let her go… her and her lover, the flop! But the Phantom wanted – he thought that this could happen just like those foolish romantic Victorian novels – Christine to come to him again and say that she loved him and comfort him… _but no, these things happen only to those darned fairytales! Not in real life… Goddamn!_ The Phantom of the Opera started hating and loathing Christine and Raoul, like they were both his worst enemies, he didn't even want to see or hear anything about them.

But with Helen Sermetzidou, the Phantom of the Opera started feeling lust for life! The Opera Ghost felt warmness inside him. He couldn't describe those feeling. Wanting to leave this cursed and haunted Opera House. It was a long time ago, since he wanted someone so badly. Helen was a new thing for him… a kind of a woman who was undiscovered and full with purity and innocence. The Phantom of the Opera knew that he wasn't his self with Helen Sermetzidou. Why that deformed Ghost craved her touches, her moans, her kisses? He was going to Hell because of those thoughts. The Phantom felt mixed emotions for Helen. Sometimes, he wanted to seduce her and kiss her lustfully. But, in other moments, he wanted to slap her as she was so stubborn! In other times, the handsome Ghost wanted to get lost at those bluebell eyes of hers. For no reason, the Phantom of the Opera wanted her both to gratify him emotionally – as she would show him love and affection, not fear and hatred – and also sexually – as the thought of having her underneath him made him blush harden. The Opera Ghost would give everything to this Angel, everything…

The Phantom of the Opera would to Helen Sermetzidou… the whole world. The masked madman would spoil the chatty maiden with a lot of gifts. The Phantom of the Opera would buy her necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and other jewelries with gems, long velvet silk and satin dresses… How much would he do? They would leave the Grand Pale and they would travel all around the world. They would travel in Spain, Great Britain, Germany, China, Russia, Persia, Greece… anywhere she wanted! But not in the United States of America, the Opera's Phantom wasn't into the American States. The madman would show her every place on the world he ever visited. He could give her a life full with adventure. The Opera Ghost would make her feel special, more special… one of the kind! And she would be _his_ Helen, _his_ freedom, _his_ smile, _his_ love, _his_ death, _his_ other half, _his_ Muse, HIS ONLY REASON TO LIVE! And the kisses they would share would be the most sinful in the world. They would enjoy together the joys of the flesh… the touches, the caresses, the bites, the kisses, the moans, the groans, the hugs, the sweet nonsense. As their nights, they both would savour every single night like it's their last. The Ghost would let breathless his Helen from the kisses, the hungry lustful kisses…

But of the love of the God, she was only sixteen! Only sixteen! And he, he was thirty-five, in few months thirty-six! The madman was almost twenty years older than the maid. She was only a child, a child! For Goodness' sake, she was a child, an orphan child, and he was an adult, an adult whose hormones wasn't sometimes under his control. Children are feather-brained and cannot understand the hazard of those facts and they need an adult, who is minded, to guide them and tutor them. But, that man behaved like a fool, like an idiotic creature! For crying out loud, Helen was a CHILD! How could the thought of making love at her body passed from his mind? How? Why he still craved those flesh's joys with her? Why? He was an adult and a she was a child… Perhaps, he might be in her Father's age. It would be more natural if she looked like a daughter to him and he, from his place, looked like a father to her. It wasn't right! It didn't feel right. Indeed, it was so wrong, so wrong. She couldn't be his. They mustn't be lovers. The Phantom of the Opera was an adult; Helen Sermetzidou was a child…

But that emptiness and the sorrow inside his soul and heart, Helen brought him life. The little lady made him smile like a foolish child, who took a candy, and she wanted to punch hid face to stop him smiling. She made him feel as she didn't have the feeling of fear him, pity him, loath him like the way some others did... The young adventurous chit gave him yearn for life. Before, the Phantom of the Opera wished to find death, but since he met that Greekwoman he wanted to live! It was a miraculous miracle! A gift from God! The Phantom of the Opera smiling and yearning for love, life and acceptance. The Opera Ghost wished to start a new life with Helen… go on the roads and alleyways of the Paris and start singing like the most foolish person in Paris! That girl drove him insane! The Phantom of the Opera felt so beautifully, so wonderfully with his Helen.

He looked up at the blue Parisian sky and a small smile wrapped up his face. The smile was tiny, a little grin, but it warmed his entire body just like a fireplace warms the houses on the cold snowy nights of Christmas. The very very first thing he thought was the big eyes of Helen with crystal clear warm blue irises. _Oh my Helen, what have you done to me? My sweet lovely Helen… Why I want you so badly? Why I need to have you for me, only for me? Stupid Ghost, why the bloody Hell you tied her in the armchair of yours? You know very well that beacoup Hélène would never hand you to police. So then what is the true reason?_ The masked composer thought silently and he was very confused from his weird action. Also, he still tried to understand why he did that. The Phantom of the Opera didn't realize that he started humming a song…

 _"Why am I feeling  
a strange feelings,  
Can my feelings stop playing in my mind?  
Years ago I waited Death  
Now I want her to live with me  
why my feelings dog me?  
So confusing, yet so clear._

 _She's my Angel from Sky_  
 _and I feel I'm in cloud nine._  
 _My world is full with dark and hatred,_  
 _why those unexplained feelings 'till play with my poor mind?_  
 _What she has done to me?_  
 _Now I crave her and want her so bad._

 _She makes me smile like a joyful little child_  
 _with her I'm not myself, I'm wild_  
 _I'm fearing of losing my Snow White_  
 _Indeed, my soul tries to tell me what's going on_  
 _'Control your own self!'_  
 _I hear a voice telling me_  
 _But my thoughts still torture me_

 _I need her so badly_  
 _Why I want to have her so awfully?_  
 _My Snow White is my life, my sun and moon._  
 _Wait, why my heart beats fast just in the thought of her?_  
 _Please, someone, give a sight._

 _Feelings dogging me_  
 _Please, let her live with me_  
 _my feelings are torturing me_  
 _Feelings so confusing, yet so clear."_

The Phantom of the Opera was preoccupied on his racing thoughts and he wasn't aware that he arrived at the duplex apartment. It wasn't big, but it was just perfect for the two female companions of the Frenchman deformed architect. He arrived at the house of Madame Antoinette Giry and her daughter, Marguerite Giry. The house was stoned and timber from beechwood. The home of the Girys had a small greenish garden with various flowers, such as tulips, gardenias, roses, daisies, and other blossoms which fragrance was irresistible. Also, the residence of the Girys was white and dark purple. It had some stairs at the entrance door. Above the white wooden sculpted door, there was a horse's petal hanging. At the sight of this, a muffled chuckle escaped from his lips. It was from his horse, Cesar… he still couldn't believe that this horse actually survived all those years under that gloomy catacombs without the warmness of the sun of the day and with a little scratch from the destruction of the Grand Pale.

His cold smile faded quickly. The Opera Ghost remembered when he threatened Madame Giry and her daughter, due to he saw them as the responsible. Those females were responsible for not warning him about the trap that flop Vicomte sat for him. Also, Madame Giry was _the one_ who told a part of his to the de Chagny, and she showed him the way to come to his lair! How could she do this to him? The very odd was that Antoinette was _the one_ who rescued him from the Gypsies. When the first year passed – after that dreadful destruction of Opera Populairé – the madman genius didn't want to hear or see them both. But, thanks to the lecture – as someone could say – Nadir made at him, the Ghost with the hot temper forgave the females Girys.

The Phantom of the Opera, whose deformed right face looked like a bad sunburn, pressed gently the door bell with his gloved index, he held out of his jacket's pocket his pocket-clock to check the time to see if he was late, and he waited patiently one of his friends to come to open the door.

"He is here; the Phantom of the Opera!" Marguerite Giry jumped from her seat and walked at the hall.

Marguerite Giry was the only daughter of Charles and Antoinette Giry. She was twenty one years old. The Frenchwoman was still unmarried. Meg Giry was a petite figure of light. Her skin colour was white; she was the most of the time pale as she was mostly fearful and frightened. She was small, a little bit shorter from Christine, but indeed taller from Helen. She was like a fragile porcelain doll. Mademoiselle Giry had almond light brown eyes, her eyebrows were shapely too. Her nose was tiny, French-like. Her cheeks were rounded and rosy, just like her thin lips. Meg – as every friend of hers called her – had long straight golden hair, which was most of the time in a braid, and her bangs fell on her brownish almond-like eyes. That day, Marguerite Giry had her hair in a half ponytail – which was tighten up with a velvet dark blue ribbon, her long tea dress was indeed velvet and dark blue, while her sleeves were long to her wrists and the neckline of her dress was slightly open, but it didn't make it look scandalous… indeed, Meg was a woman with authorities and she held so much respect from everyone.

Sometimes the ex-Prima Ballerina, who became a Ballet Mistress – just like her Mother – at a public High School for female students named Municipalité Collèges Marie Antoinette, was still that clumsy petite ballerina, who once danced at the magnificent Paris Opera House. Marguerite's first and last protagonist role, as a Prima Ballerina, where at the unfortunate night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. The Opera Ghost felt sympathy to her a little bit, because she was her Mother's daughter and he loved when others were frightened from her spooky stories about him. Mademoiselle Giry was still muddling something up when she was extremely nervous. It was cute indeed. Meg never tried to do something unpleasant to the Opera Ghost. She knew very well his temper and what he was about to do when they didn't follow his orders. The young woman was about to fell from the stairs, but as luck would have brought it, she frankly didn't fall."

"Bonjour Monsieur le Fantôme de L'Opéra! " Marguerite Giry was breathing heavily as she was running before she opened the door.

"Good morning to you too, mademoiselle," the Phantom grimaced and he took his serious expression. He pressed his lips and a very scary silence took over the place. "May I ask you something, Meg?" the girl nodded and the handsome as Hell Ghost spoke with his smooth velvet enchanting voice, "Am I late for tea, aren't I?"

"No, no, no!" Marguerite shook her head with a negative response, "You're not late. Monsieur Khan hasn't come yet. He said he must do something firstly…"

"Oh, interesting…" his velvet voice was cold and smooth.

As the reality slapped Meg Giry's cheek forcefully, the ballerina shook her head. "Hmm, you don't have to wait here infront of the door…" her voice was still trembling. Was he so much dreadful? "If you are pleased, you can come upstairs with me. Mother is reading a novel and she's waiting for you." The Phantom of the Opera nodded coldly and he followed the blond woman.

Madame Antoinette Giry hadn't changed at all… a woman full with energy, which energy was invisible for the most of the people. Few had the chance to meet and know the adventurous side of the Ballet Mistress of the Grand Pale. Two of those were the Phantom of the Opera and Nadir Khan. Even if she was a fifty one years old Frenchwoman, she could dance ballet like any other young woman. Madame Giry had some wrinkles on her face, which were the witnesses of her uncountable smiles. Her irises were indeed a dark shade of grayish green. Her lips were thin and pink. Her daughter, Meg, looked a lot like her. Antoinette's nose was small and she shook it like a little child does at its nose. Her dark grey long hair was in a long braid. Her clothes were in a dark shade of brown, as it was a reminder of being a widowed woman.

Madame Antoinette Giry was too concentrated reading the book she held in her palms. She was sitting on a leather armchair. Madame wore her glasses; they suited perfectly at the time period… and were downcast at the tip of her nose so she would be able to read easier. The Ballet Mistress, who was also the Box Keeper of the well-known Box 5, touched with her index softly the edge of her tongue and she slipped the page of the heavy book. Madame Giry was so engrossed from her book and no one needed or wanted to disrupt her. She was a melancholic person and she was exactly the book lover, which someone could mention. The book's name was _La vie este belle_ by Jonathan Chevalier. It was about two lovers from different social classes, who lived in Paris at the French Revolution in 1789. It was indeed very romantic as the poor girl tried to be with her fortunate rich lover. It was a book which had a lot of angst and suspense and drama and romance! Those books were attracted to Madame Antoinette Giry.

Beside her, at the lowboy, there was a black and white picture of a happy, merry and young married couple at their wedding day. It was her wedding day. She was so young and beautiful. Her husband was the most handsome of all that blissful and delighting moment. The groom wore a black high top hat. His eyes were glimmering and someone could read the joy in his figure's expression. Also, not only his lips, but also the eyes of Monsieur Giry smiled with warmness and secure. As Madame Giry said once, _I remember those blue-green eyes looking at me that day with tenderness and warmness. I was so nervous, but since our gazes locked I felt so much sure than any other time in my life._ She missed him truly. He had blond short hair and a lovely moustache. Charles was a tall well-built man. Unfortunately, Madame Giry's husband died from pneumonia when Meg was only five. The only daughter of the couple didn't remember at all her Father but she enjoyed every time to hear her Mother telling stories and facts about him. Life was indeed unfair!

"Bonjour Madame Giry," the Phantom of the Opera took off his top hat as a sign of respect to the elder woman.

Madame Giry jumped from her seat as she was too concentrated reading. When her eyes met his and the madman apologized for scaring her, the middle-aged woman cleared her throat. "Bonsoir le Fantôme de l'Opéra. Please, have a seat. Meg, dear, could you please give the Opera Ghost his cup of tea?"

The dinnerware for tea was very eye-catching. Marguerite Giry gave at the Opera Ghost with her hands trembling, the porcelain cup of tea. Also, the teapot and the cups were white and painted with red roses and through the teapot there was hot tea, which was possible to burn someone's guts! The Phantom of the Opera blew gently the cup before having a taste of drinking it. It was perfect. A little bit hotter than usual, but indeed it was tasteful.

"Is everything alright, Opera Ghost?" Madame Antoinette Giry spoke with her velvet voice and she rose her brow.

"Excuse me?" the Phantom of the Opera didn't hear her ass he was deeply concentrated at his thoughts. When the Opera Ghost returned to reality, he asked Madame Giry to repeat her question. "Oh, yes, of course Madame, I am perfectly fine."

"Then, why your eyes don't match with your words?" Meg Giry raised her eyes as she drank a sip from her tea. "I believe there's something worrying you…"

"Indeed, something is bothering you. You need to tell someone what's going on. Meg and I are always here to lend an ear. Please, tell me what is torturing your mind" the older woman spoke him like she was his Mother. Actually, she spoke at him better than his own Mother, but, anyway…

"Madame," the infamous Opera Ghost breathed slightly and he licked his lips, "I'm not thinking of her…"

"Who is she?" Meg's eyes with the brown irises looked at him with curiosity.

"No one mademoiselle…" the Phantom of the Opera was about to growl at her.

"Your thoughts are torturing you." Madame Giry saw that the Phantom was ready to explode, "Speak, you'll feel much better. Trust me."

The Phantom of the Opera needn't want to talk about it. It was _his_ business after all about what was dogging him. Right? Of course, indeed… that was the Phantom's issue and none else's. That problem drove him insane, that woman drove him insane! In fact, the Phantom of the Opera really wished to understand what was going on. The Phantom of the Opera was so confused that he needed his time to think about it. _Alone,_ he thought, _with no one's foolish and childish ideas and advices_! He felt that he shouldn't tell them, but Meg Giry started pleading him. She made those puppy eyes. Marguerite was annoying and for a moment he wished that he handed his Punjab Lasso. The Phantom said several times that he didn't wish to reveal them the woman's identity, but in the end the women's pleading made him accept.

"Fine! I'll talk to you about her…" the Opera Ghost spoke with a childish way, "Helen Sermetzidou, her name is Helen Sermetzidou…" his blue eyes had a gleam when he said her name. "You know that woman who is wanted from the Parisian Police, due to she killed the Conér boy?" there was a tiny grin on his face.

"Yes! That issue of the death of the poor boy was on the most important issues on the newspapers at the previous week. Why?" it was Meg Giry's turn to speak.

"Well," an evil smirk like a cat caught his figure, "my sweet Helen is the woman who killed him!" when he actually said that, both Girys were about to choke.

"For goodness' sake! Are you related to that murder?" Meg's voice was full with shock.

"With sadness, I inform you, mademoiselle that no… I don't" his voice was cold as an iceberg. "I wish I had!" after that sentence his smooth, enchanting and velvet voice turned into a growl and it was colder than usual. "That bastard, that Conér, tried to sexually abuse my Helen that night! He entered secretly at her bedroom after a wearing day for my endearing Hélène. It was very dark… I believe that my beloved Helen is a little bit frightened of darkness and gloom. I am telling you this, my dear friend, due to the fact I'll tell you. It was dark inside her room and that damned boy woke up my Hélène. She was about to scream and that ignorant fool – that slave of fashion – kissed her; he kissed my Helen, passionately! That boy… I swear to Heavens that if he was alive, I would strangle him without second thoughts." The Phantom of the Opera was sounded too pissed off with this fact,

"Oh," an evil smirk applied his figure, "and ma chérie Hélène kicked him with force between his legs!" the cheeks of both Madame and Mademoiselle Giry had a very dark shade of pink as a result of the embarrassment. The handsome as Hell Opera Ghost succeeded not to laugh and he cleared his voice, "The insolent boy started chasing my sweetheart in her room and that loggerhead pinched her on her bed!" someone could see the indignation at countenance of the Phantom of the Opera. "That demon was about to take off her nightgown! That fool! Frankly, my lovely Greekwoman handed a candlestick and she hit him until his head was bleeding and his family came to her room. She was running to escape from police, she found an asylum at my Opera House – at my lair, and I thank the fate that gave her to me!"

Before Marguerite Giry was about to say something, the doorbell rang and she ran to open the door to let Nadir Khan enter. The man was close to his fifties. He knew the Phantom of the Opera better than Madame Giry! The Persian had few wrinkles at his face, a face which had a chocolate shade of brown skin colour. Daroga used to work at Shah's police. He was indeed a tall man, in Opera Ghost's height, but thinner and less masculine. The lips of his were small, always thirsty, and ready to speak and brink back in order the Phantom of the Opera, when the Opera Ghost had something badness in his mind. His nose looked like those of Greekmen in black-figured or red-figured vase. Nadir had a brown beard. The Persian wore his glasses. Also, Daroga wore his clothes in light blue colours; it had a harmony with his dark brown eyes.

"Bonjour!" Nadir came to them with a big smile as he said the phrase in a sing-song way – no one wanted, for the love of the God, to hear him sing – and he kissed softly Madame Giry's knuckles as he did also, previously with Meg's and he bit them his hellos "bonsoir Madame and Mademoiselle Giry, bonsoir Er…"

"Bonjour Nadir" the Opera Ghost nodded at his friend.

"The Phantom of the Opera is in love." Meg murmured silently and those words caught the ears of all the attendants.

"What?" the Phantom of the Opera looked with disbelief the petite ballerina.

Marguerite Giry took a deep breath and started explaining how she realized that thing, that illness of love which tortured him for so long. Meg with a smile said it was easy to understand it. And also, it was the only reasonable reason that the dreadful Opera Ghost was distracted so much. The Phantom of the Opera, when he was talking about her, was calling her with the possessive pronounce. For example, he said at the conversation; _my sweet Helen, my Helen, my endearing Hélène, ma Hélène, my lovely Greekwoman_ … Also, he was talking about as she was his and only his! And the way the Phantom of the Opera talked about Monsieur François Conér was just like a nasty blasphemy came out of his lips… In the end, the infâme le Fantôme de l'Opéra was madly and desperately in love with this foreign young Greekwoman.

"Ha…" the Opera Ghost laughed falsely, "me; in love with my Helen? Of course not!" that stupid loggerhead Ghost denied his feelings for the woman whom was his prisoner.

"Please, could you tell us how does she look like?" Nadir made a question so Meg and the Phantom wouldn't make a disputation. "I haven't heard anything from the beginning of the story and honestly, I am curious."

"Oh," a sly grin applied at his masked face, "that would be my pleasure…" he cleared his throat. "My Helen Sermetzidou, oh my Helen Sermetzidou… you have no idea how she looks like. She's an Angel, my Angel, a beautiful Angel. Mon cœur is a lot of shorter than me, I think I might be two heads taller!" he left his chuckle escape "My Helen, I will say my Helen again because Helen is only mine, is only sixteen years old – I saw it at the newspaper about what the Conérs said about the murderess and to be honest, I thought she was only fourteen. That woman has a baby face!

She is truly the real Snow White… with snowy-like creamy smooth skin –" unfortunately the Phantom of the Opera started drooling from those words and he couldn't bring himself to stop, "I really wish that I can have the chance to fondle and give caresses to each inch of her flesh… so smooth, so wonderful, like begging me to touch her! Where did I pause? Oh right… her body, oh no… Helen has a snake-like thin body and her hips, her curves, everything is torturing me! They're begging me to rip her and show her the true meaning of the physical love between a man and a woman… Goddammit," the Opera Ghost cursed, "I wished that she was older so I wouldn't be nineteen, and in few months twenty, years older than her and I wouldn't feel so guilty." A grin came to his face as he thought about her body even more. "Her bosom is dogging me! And how she breathes and it rises up and, and I sometimes caught myself starring there when she is sleeping… and how I want her right now…" the Phantom of the Opera drank once more his tea.

"Her face is beautiful like the moon." The Phantom of the Opera changed the subject quickly so he would stop those dirty and sinful thoughts of his for her, "so white like a ghost… her eyebrows are perfectly shaped. My Helen's hair is long, ebony and curly and it makes her look like those porcelain dolls with those blue, a clear blue, owl-like eyes of hers with eyelashes, rosy cheeks and her fleshy bloody lips in a pout ready to speak to me." The madman of the Grand Pale couldn't control his self anymore.

"Red… fleshy… kissable… snake body… curves… bosom… smooth... so much sexy…" the moan left his mouth without a thought and he was totally out of control. Madame Giry looked at Monsieur Khan to say something but the Persian shook his head. "Oh my God, that woman… I want her, I long her… I desire to touch her bare skin and make love at her body and hear her moan and scream my name out of pleasure as I'm going to… I need her, I want her, I want so awfully to feel her… to crush my lips at those bloody lips of hers passionately, with fiery passion, and kiss her senselessly… my Helen, only mine! The one and the only Helen Sermetzidou belong to the Opera Ghost!" the Phantom of the Opera was insane for her. His grin was huger than before, "From my impure thoughts for my sweet lovely Helen, my clothes are tightening up in all the wrong places every time and the sad of this story is that I cannot pleasure her and myself with my sexual desire for her."

"Hmm, interest~" Nadir was about to say but the Phantom of the Opera interrupted him.

The madman of the Grand Pale laughed with the most insane and maddest laughter. "That's why I did it! That's why she is chained at my lair for the past few six days! I don't feel any guilt. She wanted to leave to New York City, to start a new life, to live the America's Dream. Should I let her go? Indeed no! In United States of America are a lot of uncountable dangers and mon amour doesn't know the true face and the cruelty of the world as she's more innocent than anyone, and she trusts someone so quickly! What if there's a pedophile or a rapist and try to harm her?" he laughed madly once more and Meg was frightened. "Oh no," his mood changed too quickly, "I am just like them! I am like that asshole Conér! I want to have sex with her just like the others want! Oh no, this _can't_ be happening! I am not like them, right? Right? Of course I am not! Ha, ha…" the Phantom of the Paris Opera House drove insane from the guilt he felt and he started laughing in an insane loud way.

Nadir Khan slapped the unmasked cheek of the Opera Ghost. "My apologies," he looked at the rest of the group. "He was out of control. I couldn't help it. I was afraid that he was about to do something mindless again."

"Thank you Daroga," the Phantom's voice was speaking once again with the enchanting deep velvet voice cold as iceberg. "I have absolutely no idea what in bloody Hell happen those past few minutes. What kind of demon entered my body?" the Opera Ghost made a pause and everyone was afraid of what would happen next. "I need a drink; something strong…"

"Vodka?" Meg asked faking a smile.

"I'd love to." The Phantom of the Opera nodded and he was like nothing happened previously.

There was a deadly silence and, the Phantom of the Opera, Nadir Khan, Antoinette Giry and her daughter Marguerite Giry looked at each other with the expression of suspicion and fear consuming their souls. They didn't say anything. It was so natural this moment. Their conversation ended with an unusual and frightening ending. They shouldn't talk about her. She drove him insane! Truly, she did it. The funniest was that Helen had not even the slightest idea of what she had just done to the unfortunate Opera Ghost. Maybe it had passed few hours and the group of friends didn't enunciate a word. Why would they say something? What would they say? And mostly he; the dreadful serial killer Phantom of the Opera who behaved for some split seconds like a raging tiger which fantasized his meal, his beautiful gazelle, and he was ready to attack. But, Nadir didn't want to put an end on this torture of the Phantom's thoughts.

"Well," the Persian broke the ice and all his friends looked at him like he was something extraordinary. "I will finally save our dear Opera Ghost from his torture! I have the answer!" he triumphed like he just discovered a medicine for a deadly illness.

"Oh really?" the Phantom of the Opera looked at him with disbelief, "If you'll say that I'm in love with Helen, Nadir, you'll be the first victim after those five years who would die from my dreadful Punjab Lasso… and I'm _not_ joking." The Opera Ghost glared at Daroga coldly.

"No, no!" Nadir Khan alias Daroga shook his head negatively. "You are not in love with Helen, I am perfectly sure. You lust after her!"

"Did you say that the Phantom of the Opera has a lust for this girl?" Madame Giry made that question.

"But, Mére," Meg Giry looked with her puppy brown eyes her Mother, "doesn't Opera Ghost go to the brothels once a month? Why is he feeling lust?" the woman paused and she looked at all the persons with an inevitability, "I am saying again and I'm more sure than ever; he is IN LOVE WITH HER!"

"Mademoiselle Giry," the Phantom glared at her and he growled, "you say nonsense and bullshit!" as he cleared his throat his blue eyes starred at the Persian man. "I want you to tell me how you realize it. I mean, I believe your opinion is more allowable than the theory of Mademoiselle Giry. I have only loved in my darned life Christine Daaé, and I still wouldn't stick her pretty first name with that stupid surname of that fop who claims to be her husband."

"First and foremost," the Persian spoke like he was about to make a lecture, "lust is the sexual desire that someone is feeling for somebody else. It is indeed one of the deadly sins, I must inform you. The people who are feeling lust for some persons had the most impure fantasies for them. It is a dirty game of the mind, endless, and most of the time it ends – I'm telling you this as I've read on the newspaper – with a rape.

You lust after her. Every symptom is shown at your case. You wish to make love at her body. You say you want to feel her, touch her, kiss her, hear her moan and scream out of pleasure at your sexual act, to say it more gently. Do you want me to tell you more?"

"But," the Phantom of the Grand Pale rose his shapely brow, "I believe Meg has a point to this. I mean," he looked at the young ballerina as she had some hopes that he would finally realize his undying love for Helen. "I visit the brothels once in a blue moon, then why I feel lust for her?"

"My friend, as you say, that woman is perfection… a woman that could touch every fantasy of every man. She is like a woman every man had ever wished to meet and claim her as his own. Firstly, the way you talk about her curves – I have to say better, your expression – is like you want her right now and make her even forget her own name!" _oh no, that damned Persian has so right, right here!_ "Also, she looks like a true Angel I have to say from the words you say…"

"That woman is stark-raving mad!" the Phantom of the Opera breathed out, "I mean… you have no idea what happens to my lair. She pissed and moaned and begged me to let her enter my lair to find an asylum. The funniest is that she didn't scream when I told her who am I, she was glad meeting me and me made a hearty handshake… actually she did it as I was in a state of shock. She looked at me with a gleam in her sky blue eyes and she had that darned cute curled smile at her figure.

I was hurt, to be honest, when she said she had to go. I had the idea to lend her my bedroom so she can spend the rest of the night as she was tired. My thoughts were haunted by those curves of hers. I didn't want her to go away and leave me, so I had an ingenious idea. In the morning, she sat at the armchair and she ate her breakfast. Oh, she asked me if I slept nicely, oh my sweetie…

When I chained her at my armchair, she became the most vulgar woman! You cannot believe it. My Helen started cursing me, oh, and those curses weren't something innocent. Frankly I had the idea to shut her mouth with a cloth." Everyone was listening silently,

"Dammit to Hell! I missed and I still miss her voice. That foolish naïve lovely woman doesn't say a single word to punish me. She still hasn't talk. This is my punishment and I hate it. She's driving me mad! The worst, yesterday my sweetheart heartless Helen had a very enchanting gaze; she was flirting with me, while she looked at me with a gaze – I really hope it was like this – a gaze full of desire and pleasure, and I came closer to her as I wanted to breathe her scent, levanter cinnamon and rose, and she belched at me!" Meg Giry left a muffled giggle and the Opera Ghost glared at her.

"I wanted that moment to slap her face – she was so stupid for doing that thing, my endearing Helen is an insane mad Greekwoman Pontian who will make me a serial killer again – and then… kiss her? Yes, I wanted to kiss her after this. I don't know, I have a mix of emotions for her. She is so stubbornly stupid but the same time the loveliest creature on the world. Ma Hélène is talking to me like I'm a human… I don't want to hurt your feelings my friends to inform you, but my sweet like chocolate cake Greekwoman isn't frightened of me, indeed she was mad at me, mostly, I don't believe she hates me like those people did. Her smile is the sweetest from chocolate. And when she's angry and she doesn't want to talk about it – as I've been punished with her silence, she chews her lower lip and this is making the temperature of the lair making me want to take off my shirt. Dammit Helen… my sweet lovely Helen…" the Phantom of the Opera murmured softly at the end with a smile in the thought of her.

"He is in love!" Meg Giry groaned.

"No! He lusts after her!" Nadir Khan glared at the petite ballerina.

"Will you both set the fuck up?" the Phantom of the Opera growled at both of them like a bloodthirsty wolf, the leader of the pack.

There was a deadly silence in the room. Somebody could hear a pin fell on the floor with this silence! Of course, who wanted to play with the hot temper of the Phantom of the Opera? Well, Helen would love to… It was just like someone makes an agreement with the Devil! Only a fool would make such a deal. It was scary, the atmosphere was frightening… not only heavy feelings they had due to their not-so-good-idea-to-make-it conversation, but also the way the dreadful Phantom of the Opera was that moment… silent, waiting for the time to return to his Opera House and see how his endearing Helen was.

The Phantom of the Opera thought about it for a moment, thought about what could possibly happen when he would return back to his underground kingdom of music and he would see Helen chained and his mind would craze him and he would finally decide to claim her as his own. Well, first of all, in his mind Helen finally freed herself from her chains and she tried to look for a door or something like that – to find her freedom. The Phantom of the Opera would smirk at her evilly and Helen would be frightened of him for the very first time. Next move, the Opera Ghost would come close to her, she would try to run but her feet wouldn't help her. He would kiss her; kiss her with senselessness, fiery passion and lust as he longed her. The poor girl would try to scream to escape to call help, but she would be helpless under his touch. The Ghost would have the chance to fondle each part of her creamy-like skin and the maid would shake violently her body to stop him. He would smile at her cunningly at her, while she would beg him to leave her. The Phantom would be the raging lion and Helen would be his meal, the lamb. When he would end up with her, her naked lifeless figure would be at his merciless hands as he would take her innocence and life together. His mind would be clear, clear and he would feel guiltier than any other time in his life. A scream would leave his mouth and the dead girl would fall from his hands. He would try to wake her up, his eyes full with tears, trying to dry her owns with his big palms and begging for her forgiveness. As he would be too late for prays and useless pities, the Opera Ghost would give an end to his life, hanging his little self and then there would be two corpses at the Grand Opera Populairé. _No, no, no! This would never happen! This would never happen! I wouldn't do this to my Helen! Never! I would rather die than kill her this way_ … the thought of her screams of help, a loud muffled voice of hers as he would shut her mouth with his own passionately giving her pessimistic and negative messages, her beg, her tries to stop this torture, the helplessness, her hot tears under those wonderful bluebell eyes that always were shinning and that moment would be darker than the cold night sky made him feel disgust for himself and fear, a lot of fear of what would happen if he actually lost control… _conceal, calm down, forget, you wouldn't do this, you are not that kind of monster, you want to see her alive and smiling not hopeless and dead, breath in breath out…_

Marguerite Giry started thinking everything again and again; she still believed that the Phantom of the Opera was madly and desperately in love with that Helen girl. She knew it! Marguerite knew it very well, but who could every listen to the coy ballerina? None. It was like they were in a dangerous deadly zone and she was the only one who knew the exit, but unfortunately no-one believed her and trusted at this. She wasn't the fool little ballerina who was dancing at the magnificent Grand Pale. She was twenty one years old, unmarried unfortunately, woman. Why the society had this believing; the believing that the women were featherbrained, dumpy and they could do _only_ the house work and nothing else? There were so many important women in the humanity, like Jane Austen, Cleopatra, Nefertiti, Queen Elisabeth the First, Empress Theodora, Elizabeth Hamilton… Meg wanted someone to believe her theories, which weren't only some theories but the bitter truth. It was the bitter truth for crying out loud! Why the blood Hell nobody believed her or defeat her? That was stupid, and more stupid was that the Phantom of the Opera who didn't even want to think he was in reality heads-over-heels in love with his Greekwoman Helen. _So, if he reveals his feelings, will this be the end of the world? Indeed no! And the point is actually right here, the Phantom of the Opera is actually in LOVE! He didn't sin, right? Well, if love is a sin, then everyone has sinned! Why doesn't he let his egocentric self reveal his true feelings for this girl? I'm so sure, I dare to touch the heat at kitchen and burn my palm on the fire, that this girl is the solution! This girl would bring life to this gloomy terrifying terrorizing lonesome man. They maybe leave the destroyed Opera House forever and live a lifetime together. If only there was someone who could believe me… if only…_

Madame Antoinette Giry thought for a moment what her daughter said previously and Meg Giry said it over and over again… _her theory might be close to the reality_ , Madame Giry reminded herself the way the Phantom of the Opera was with Christine Daaé. He was like a Father to her, an Angel… _No, this is so much different from the relationship the Opera Ghost had with Christine de Chagny. This is so different. God, why isn't it easy for all of us? I think that this girl might feel very odd with this mindless situation…_ Madame Giry started adopting her daughter's thoughts. Thus, she hoped that the Phantom of the Opera was in love with this woman, this girl. Indeed, as truly the madman of the Grand Pale said that this girl was so much special from anyone else and also wasn't afraid of him… the Phantom of the Paris Opera House was finally miraculously blessed. He needed a partner like her. Antoinette Giry looked at her daughter with love and tenderness. Meg looked back at her Mother with a puzzled look at her face and Antoinette closed her one eye on purpose at her daughter. A smile shined at the ballerina's face. The blond mouthed at the elder woman; _do you believe me?_ The ex-Ballet Mistress nodded with a warm smile at her daughter. _Merci Maman, merci beacoup…_ the twenty one years old ballet teacher mouthed once more and she was ready to jump from her seat as a result for her happiness and the justice she felt that moment. _Meg_ , it was her Mother's turn to mouth, _don't… they don't believe. When he will realize his feeling, you can exult as much as you want, until then…_ Madame Giry pressed her index against her lips.

Nadir Khan had other ideas about the fact, always believing that he was right. In one way, the man from Persia had a point in this queer not-so-innocent situation. Of course, Daroga realized one part of all the complicated feelings his friend, the Phantom of the Opera, had for this girl. The way the Opera Ghost spoke about her figure like she was the beautiful Helen of Sparta and the smoldering Snow White made the Persian realize his friend's sexual desire for the girl. Also, the way the dreadful Opera Ghost almost half-moaned in the thought of that Greek girl, was giving him another clue. _Perhaps, he wants someone, someone in the age and the physical figure of Miss Helen, who will please him sexually. Indeed, I believe this and I know that this is so right! Stupid Mademoiselle Giry! She says that he's in love with her… why can't she realize the fiery lustful passion he feels for that strange girl?_ The Persian thought silently and looked at the rest of his friends. And to give extenuation at his beliefs, he started thinking… the Phantom of the Opera visited the brothels one a month. Khan remembered the first time when he took him at Madame Amouréx's brothel, _Je Aphrodite, la déesse de la beauté et Éros_ , for the very first time. The Phantom of the Opera wanted to get out of this place. After, he became the most favourite costumer of all. _And now, he wants to experience something new…_

"I am still right…" the Persian murmured under his dark moustaches.

"Excuze-moi!" Meg Giry pressed her palm against her chest, "I truly believe that you, Monsieur Khan, are deeply mistaken! Our endearing Phantom of the Opera is madly and desperately and hopelessly in love with our Helen!"

"Mademoiselle, I have to inform you that we do not live in a magical world fill with love and flowers and butterflies as you believe!" Meg wanted that moment to insult him. "For crying out loud! We are talking about the heartless and merciless Opera Ghost! When he threw the grand crystal chandelier, the people he killed where more than those he killed for his first five years as a serial killer! He wants to justify his sexual lustful desire!"

"NO!"

"This is the bitter truth, mademoiselle…" after this, there was a deadly silence.

The silence was broken from the sweet voice of Meg Giry. "Do you want to bet on something?" Meg smiled coyly and cunningly at the same mixed moment.

"What kind of? I would love to join…" the Persian smiled cunningly.

"Mes excuses, mes amis" the jaw of the Phantom of the Opera fell as he realize what would happen next, "but this affair is about me and my Helen, and I don't…."

"If the Phantom of the Opera is in love with her, you will cook for me for three years –no! You will cook for one decade! But, if the Phantom of the Opera lusts after hr, I will do your laundry for one decade, also!" Meg Giry smirked.

"I'm amazed, Mademoiselle Giry…"

"The point is, are we deal?" Marguerite Giry gave him her hand for a handshake.

"Deal!"

* * *

 **There is another end of our very strange fanfic, I hope you didn't have to vomit… ;)**

 **1) I did warn you…**

 **2) Oh boy, the O.G. is… wow and I-can't-describe-this-awkward-situation and he fears of what will happen if he loses the control… Aww… don't worry, O.G, you won't lose your control!**

 **3) Frankly Helen doesn't have the tiniest idea of the feelings of her captor**

 **4) If you didn't realize it – of course they would realize it, stupid H.D. – N.K. (Nadir Khan) was about to call O.G. Erik…**

 **5)The lyrics of the song** _ **Feelings**_ **which was sang by O.G. were written by me! I would never ever do this again. I have written the chapter sooner and I couldn't find a song. I researched at Google, I asked some friends of mine, and nothing! I was pissed and the idea of writing the lyrics on my own hit me like a thunder!**

 **6) When I wrote this chapter my cheeks were burning! What am I writing? (My friends gave me their congratulations and told me that I'm about to stop being that super extra innocent cinnamon roll…)**

 **7) We are all Meg Giry right now**

 **8) Okay, I'm now confused too, is O.G. feeling only lust for Helen or he feels also love?**

 **9) Really, what is Helen doing right now?**

 **10) Hey! Do you remember when in the first chapter I wrote you that I'll write some** _ **sins**_ **? *blushes like a foolish little child when they tell it that the stork doesn't brink the babies* Well, this suppose to be… was that good? Or it was nasty and awful and vulgar? * Anxiety at level 100000000000000%* Pretty please, tell me!**

 **Kisses**

 **H.D.**


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